


Far From Home

by Tristripe



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Arranged Marriage, Coerced marriage, Dubious Consent, Intrigue, M/M, On Hiatus, Politics, Romance, Violence, Voyeurism, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tristripe/pseuds/Tristripe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - In which Bilbo Baggins finds himself taken from his home and married to Thorin, King Under the Mountain, and everyone expects him to be happy about it.</p><p>"The one who falls in love first is the one who loses."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> I believe this is the first time that I will start writing a story without knowing exactly what my plan is...where it will go, how it will end. This is an AU, inspired by all the wonderfully written fics with Bilbo and Thorin married. Of course because I like the dark and morbid, there will be a bit of a dark theme here.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the title which is taken from the song by Five Finger Death Punch. Well, scratch that. I DO own a car. I pay my taxes. But whatever has to do with the Hobbit - nothing. Zilch.
> 
> Pairing: Thorin/Bilbo…more perhaps…
> 
> Warning: Slash, issues with consent (non-consensual sexual situations), politics, violence and cultural misunderstandings/insensitivity.
> 
> Chapter Warning: None.
> 
> Summary: In which one Bilbo Baggins finds himself married to Thorin, King Under the Mountain and everyone expects him to be happy about it.
> 
> Timeline: This is in the 1320's (Shire Reckoning). Bilbo is well into his 30's and considered and adult by Hobbit standards. Disregard anything to do with the Ring, the Journey or anything historical because this is completely deviating from that at the moment.

" _There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, __The Hobbit_

* * *

"Please listen to reason, Bilbo!"

There were too many hobbits in his sitting room. As if they meant to overwhelm him by their sheer numbers to force his hand in this…this…debacle. But he was a gentle-hobbit, and though a bachelor knew how to treat his guests. Each invader had a seat to take weight off their feet, each had been served tea with the option of cream and sugar. He served each one, tightlipped but ever the gracious host.

If he had been less of a Baggins, he would have dragged each and every single one of them out of home by the hairs on their feet.

"Your name was chosen by the king's advisor himself! We had no hand in his decision!"

Bilbo stood facing the fireplace, watching the flames dance and crackle in the hearth. He took no tea himself, his hands, usually clasped behind him were instead across his chest, fists clenched in agitation. He could not face the hobbits behind him. If he turned he would surely hurl abusive language not fit of a hobbit of his stature and age.

"Since when," Bilbo managed after a tense breath, "do hobbits fall under the rule of the dwarves?"

There was the sound of a fist slamming into his table. Tea cups rattled, and Bilbo clenched his jaw.

"Confound it, Bilbo Baggins! The whole of our Watch would stand no chance if pitted against a dwarven army!"

Bilbo whirled around, turning to glare at the hobbit seated right behind him, flanked at all sides by his officers and the mayor of Hobbiton, who stood to the corner wringing his hands. Bilbo spared his mayor little thought, keeping his eyes on Isengrim Took III, current Thain of the Shire. Isengrim III hadn't been Thain long, yet seemed to put on airs as if he ruled the Shire and its inhabitants as if he were a king from the lands of man.

He was a relative of his mother's, but he could equal to the Sackville-Bagginses with how much Bilbo detested him at the moment.

"Do you have any clue what you ask of me?" Bilbo asked him heatedly. "I have neither choice, nor am allowed to voice my protest. I cannot even confront this…this _dwarf_ who you seem ready to roll over and hand over my life away to him!"

The Thain shook his head, fist still clenched on the wooden table. "This isn't an easy decision, Bilbo. No matter how it seems."

"I don't see you lining up your kin to spare me," Bilbo bit back.

This made the Thain surge up, and though he was a very round hobbit, his stance was strong and his height towered over Bilbo. But Bilbo was a Baggins, and this was his home, and he would not be cowed.

"It was _your_ name he chose!" Isengrim bellowed, shoving an enraged finger into Bilbo's chest. "Let me tell you there was little hesitation once the dwarf had read through all the prospects. He did not request for more names, he did not ask for further details, or to even have audience with anyone else. 'This one. Bilbo Baggins. He will suite my lord,' he said. What would you have me do?"

Bilbo knocked the offending hand away, and shouted, "You should never have acquiesced to this arrangement in the first place!" He felt himself begin to shake with emotion, and pulled back with gasp. "I refuse. I won't do it."

"Please Bilbo," begged the mayor from his corner. "Listen to reason!"

"There is no 'reason' to speak of! You are asking, nay, demanding that I leave my home and be escorted by some dwarf emissary to…to be…" at this Bilbo sputtered, " _married_ to some dwarf king ruling his gloomy mountain! This is utter madness, and I will have no part of it! I'm a Baggins of Bag End; this is my home and this is where I intend to stay!"

"You are also a Took," rumbled Isengrim, glowering down at him. "You carry the bloodline of both aristocracy and leadership, and with that come a heavy responsibility."

Now it was Bilbo's finger that pointed at the Thain's wide nose. "If you fancy the idea, _you_ marry and leave me to my affairs."

"Bilbo," once again the mayor spoke, his voice trembling. "The Blue Mountains are to our west, the Misty Mountains to the east. I was there when the dwarf pointed out at how…" the hobbit gulped loudly, and wiped at sweat beading at his brow "…how the Shire was located between the two dwarf kingdoms. Oh, Bilbo if you could only have heard the way he spoke of it!"

Something hideous twisted in Bilbo's gut, as if he had eaten rancid fish that had been burned to mask its foul taste. "I don't understand," he said, frowning at the silent occupants that cluttered his sitting room.

The Thain spoke, "It was a threat. How do you believe the Shire would fare in a two front war with the dwarves, Bilbo Baggins? How many days before the Shirriffs of the Watch last before being butchered and farthings from Buckland to Westmarch overrun?"

Bilbo looked up at him, horrified at his words. "They wouldn't," he said. "They have no reason to…" he stopped at the grave looks aimed at him.

These were not the average hobbits of the Shire. They were the mayors and clan heads from each town; all who would have been called for and present for such a meeting between the Thain and an advisor to a dwarf king. Each hobbit believed that there was a threat, and each one stood in united agreement to the demands that were being leveled at Bilbo.

There would be no allies to take up his cause, to argue for his rights. Even his own mayor of Hobbiton stood sweating and quivering as he begged Bilbo to agree.

Something in either his stance or expression must have changed, for the Thain took a deep breath and placed one thick hand on his shoulder, warm and firm.

"What would you have me do, Bilbo Baggins?" he asked again, gently.

"There has always been a Baggins at Bag End," whispered Bilbo, and he could not mask his growing despair.

"You aren't the only Baggins in the Shire."

* * *

The dwarf king's advisor did not have the stature of a warrior, but his eyes were old and cunning, and his flowery words filled with sneaky manipulations and hidden agendas. Every single strand of hair on his head and the thick beard that trailed in two tails down his chest were the starkest of white, however his movements were strong and he did not dodder with decreased mental capacity.

He was a king's chosen for a reason.

Standing behind him was a towering mohawked monstrosity of a dwarf warrior. Practically the height of a human male, with the thick musculature expected of his race and the scars and tattoos of a season warrior, this dwarf was of little words and plenty glower and grunts. He did not speak unless to say something in their harsh language to the advisor, and despite how not a single hobbit present was ever armed, the warrior always had a large ax out and ready.

He was the king's advisor's guard for a reason.

Thain Isengrim Took III took a sip of warmed mead, studying the dwarf who sat across from him reading over the contract with a seeing glass perched over one eye.

"He did not consent to this," the Thain said, placing his mug down and fingering the handle. "We had to practically hold him down and force his hand to sign the contract."

"Hm. Shame." The white whiskered dwarf did not look up from his reading.

Had he been a braver hobbit, Isengrim would have thrown the mead into the dwarf's face.

Had he been a stronger hobbit, Isengrim would never have allowed this.

Instead, he swallowed the angry bile that threatened to choke him, trying again to find some hint of pity. "He is quite distressed, as you can imagine. Like most other hobbits he has never left the Shire. Not only that, but he comes from a respectable family and is not used to such…heavy handed affairs."

"He is related to you." Again, the dwarf's eyes did not leave the contract.

The hobbit managed not to flinch when he replied, "His mother was the Old Took's granddaughter. My niece."

The dwarf turned the page, one thick finger brushing against the newly dried signature. "I had heard she was a bit odd for you folk. Went traveling with wizards and such. Spirited, wasn't she?"

Isengrim did not want to even think of what Belladonna would think of him. "Bilbo is quite spirited at the moment," he tried, hoping to place doubt in the dwarf's labyrinth of a mind and stall these unpleasant proceedings. "He just might try to flee during your journey. What use would your king have in such a disobedient spouse?"

Now the old dwarf removed his glass and turned his gaze to the hobbit Thain. He smiled, sweetly condescending. "My lord will find whatever use he wishes with Bilbo Baggins. I have made no mistake in my choice." He leaned back and lifted the contract; his guard stepped forward and took it with care. "Have no fear, once settled your kin will have little to complain about. Though the halls of our mountains are deep, there is plenty wealth and comfort."

"The Shire is his home."

"No, Thain Isengrim son of Gerontius." The dwarf stood from his seat and said to his towering guard, "Make sure all the supplies are ready, Dwalin. We leave at dawn."

The large dwarf warrior walked out without a word, leaving the two alone.

"This is his home," he tried one more time. It was the least he could do for his niece's only child.

Balin son of Fundin shook his wizened head, only now his eyes showed the faintest hint of pity. "His home is the Kingdom of Erebor, where my lord Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror awaits him. Make sure our Bilbo Baggins does not pack too heavily, for the road will be a long one to journey."


	2. An Unpleasant Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe due to the fact that I started this story with very little forethought, and barely any research, Chapter 1 is filled with timeline errors (I'm actually surprised no one pointed some blaringly obvious ones out!). But I'm going to roll with this, errors and all, and claim a bit of creative license with ruining the history of Middle Earth since this IS and AU story :P
> 
> Thank you sooo much for your comments and faves and kudos! It made me so happy!
> 
> Chapter Warning: None.

> _"There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after."  
>  ― J.R.R. Tolkien, _ _The Hobbit_

Balin first saw Bilbo Baggins when the hobbit was escorted to him, albeit a bit late, by both Thain and Mayor of their current hobbit town. He was pale and tight-lipped, shadows beneath dark accusing eyes as he looked them up and down with ill-concealed scorn. His hair was light colored, and curled as fit his race, feet bare and large and painfully young despite him having already reached maturity years prior. He carried on his back a single bag, and in his arms cradled a small chest.

Good. At least the hobbit heeded Balin's advice to pack light.

Or…guessing by the baleful look he cast upon his escorts…most likely had little choice in what to take with him.

"Balin, son of Fundin, at your service Master Bilbo Baggins," Balin said with a smile, bowing low at his waist as befit of a lord's consort.

"At…yours…" Bilbo managed after a tense hesitation, propriety overweighing wounded pride.

Good. He would need to maintain that when maneuvering through the courts of Erebor.

Overall, Balin was quite happy with the choice of consort. His lord would deny it, but he had a guilty appreciation for the fair, and Bilbo Baggins was quite fair to gaze upon despite his fierce stare and unhappy air. The Thain had warned him of a spirited personality, but it seemed the hobbit was choosing his battles, and right now chose stony silence while he was handed off to the dwarves.

"I do not care to ride," he hissed, pulling back when ushered towards the ponies that would carry them on their journey.

Dwalin, who had gone about preparing their steeds, snorted before lifting the resisting hobbit by the arms and plopping him on the Myrtle's saddle. It was Dwalin who had chosen this pony of their lord's consort, stating that little hobbits needed a calm ride or else their moods would sour and their company become crating with complaints. Balin watched as the hobbit, red cheeked and wide eyed, clutched timidly at the saddle, unsure by his sudden change in height. _Yes,_ he thought to himself. _Thorin will be pleased._

Thain Isengrim III took his shoulder as Balin was about to mount his own steed. This hobbit, though in name only, was no true leader – nothing like the kings Balin served and swore his undying love and loyalty. He was soft and weak, unused to the heavy weight of rule, yet despite these flaws loved his home and people and would do anything to protect them. Such traits made him easily manipulated towards Balin's agenda, as Bilbo Baggins was proof.

Isengrim now looked him in the eye, brimming panic in them. "You swear that he will come to no harm? He will not be abused…that you will do anything for his happiness?"

Smiling was an easy motion, using far less muscles on his face than frowning as most dwarves were known to do. Balin smiled, used it as much as a weapon as the ax at his belt. "I have served three kings in my lifetime. No dwarf deserves the title of king than my lord Thorin son of Thrain."

Balin had no answered his desperate plea, but the Thain nodded and stumbled to Bilbo saying his goodbyes that Bilbo returned coldly.

Balin believed everything settled when they set off. However, as he soon came to realize, hobbits were unpredictable creatures compared to dwarves.

"Wait! I say wait!"

They had been near the outskirts of Hobbiton when they were halted by the call. Balin gave his brother an alarmed glance at the sight of what seemed a hobbit female (by the skirts) chasing after them.

Balin gave Bilbo Baggins a sharp look, "I was told that you were unattached."

Bilbo in turn replied with equal sharpness, "That is my cousin's wife."

The female was gasping for breath by the time she reached them, her curls, golden spun and shining in the sunlight, were wild and pins undone by her wild activity. She grasped her skirts in agitation and once was able to, shouted, "Thief! Where is it? Where have you hidden it?"

This earned her such a cold look that Balin was quite shocked at the levity of it. Bilbo Baggins' back, which had been hunched over his saddle, straightened like iron, his face cool and impassive as he gazed down on his accuser.

"I know not what you speak of, Lobeilia." Perfect, unemotional and perfect. Balin was riveted by the exchange that followed:

"Don't play me a fool, Bilbo Baggins," the female snarled, quite ferocious of a pretty little thing. "My husband Otho is your next of kin, and as his right he stands to inherit after you. Where is the deed to Bag End? Where have you stolen it to?"

"As I am neither dead nor plan to sell Bag End, I do not see how Otho suddenly has right of ownership over my parent's home."

Lobeilia waved an unheeding hand at Balin and Dwalin. "You are being spirited away by these dwarves, are you not? You are to be married to one of their like? Do you honestly believe that you will ever be allowed to return to the Shire?" She snorted, "I've heard of the way dwarves covet their possessions, Bilbo Baggins, and make no mistake you are their possession bought and sold. Do the reasonable thing and hand over the deed to Bag End. It's useless to you now."

The hobbit's face had gone deathly pale at her words, eyes wide like bruises and for a half a second there was a hint of fear in them. Balin noted how Bilbo's hands shook slightly where they were clenched on the reins, how the muscles beneath his pale jaw clenched in well-contained rage.

Finally, Bilbo let out a breath and said, "I tire of people ordering me to see _reason_ ," he practically spat the word. "I will have you know, Lobeilia, that there was no money exchanged in my engagement. It was a contract that was signed by my own hand and no one else's. Why you assume I will never return home, I can only imagine, but Bag End will stay in my ownership until I die or sell it, and I plan on neither in the near future." He smiled, forced and twisted on such a pale, devastated face, "Give my cousin my regards. I promise to invite you over for tea when I return."

He twitched Myrtle's reins, and the obedient pony began to walk, leaving the sputtering female hobbit behind them. It was only when they were a good distance away did Balin say, "Though it is not my place to say, Master Bilbo, perhaps it would have been more sensible to allow your cousin to inherit your home."

"You're right, Mister Balin," Bilbo said lightly, "It _isn't_ your place to say anything to me at all."

* * *

Bilbo Baggins maintained a rigid silence for the first three days of their journey. Oh, he was quite polite about it, saying his _thankyous_ and _please_ , and once tasting Dwalin's version of rabbit stew _It's a wonder your race hasn't died out of hunger – hand me that spoon this instant!_ But there was not conversation or chatter, and though Balin feared it the first two nights, the hobbit made no attempt to flee for his freedom. Despite the proud words to his cousin's wife, both Balin and his brother saw the bruising on Bilbo's wrists peeking from the cuffs of his shirt and jacket.

Bilbo Baggins was not with them under his own volition. Not the littlest bit.

So Balin and Dwalin (the latter grudgingly) allowed the hobbit his hurt silence.

It came as quite a surprise on the eve of their fourth day of travel that Bilbo Baggins finally spoke.

"What are you dwarves playing at?"

His voice was quiet but firm in the night, coming so sudden that Dwalin, who had been chugging his ale, choked and sprayed it to the side. Balin glanced in shock from where he was studying the stars and estimating their location to the hobbit, who sat curled with his back against Myrtle and smoking some pipe-weed through his hobbit pipe.

There was danger in his words, and so Balin approached the subject delicately, unsure of what to expect from his, until now, mute charge.

"Play, Master Bilbo?"

The hobbit snorted, blowing a thin stream of smooth delicately from his lips. "The Blue Mountains at our west and the Misty Mountains to our east. Quite well done, I have to admit. Hobbits don't like to travel, nor are they interested in the affairs of man, dwarf or elf. Unless some type of threat comes knocking on our borders, we do not care to know nor understand the happenings of the lands surrounding us." He laughed, a high-pitched giggle that was filled with bitterness, "The average hobbit can barely read nor write nor speak in the tongues of our neighbors. We are quite naïve folk, Mister Balin…but then, you knew all this already when you approached our Thain with your demands."

"Master Bilbo…" Balin started to say.

"Mister Balin," Bilbo interrupted, his voice cutting as he asked, "Aren't the Misty Mountains overrun by goblins and orcs? When did the dwarves manage to reclaim their mines?"

" _Mahal's Beard_ ," cursed Dwalin, staring at the hobbit as if the little creature had suddenly grown wings on his head.

Balin, though just as startled and quite unnerved by his charge's words, did not allow himself such exclamation. Actually, he admonished himself, he should have anticipated this. Though Bilbo Baggins had never left his home, it was a known fact that his mother had been quite well-traveled. It wouldn't be a stretch that she had passed down her knowledge and history to her son…

…and that her son had cared enough about her stories to listen and remember.

He had foolishly underestimated Bilbo Baggins despite already knowing some intimate knowledge of him prior to coming to the Shire. Managing him would not be as simple as manuevering hobbit Thain, family heads and town mayors.

Balin shifted slightly from his spot, saying lightly, "I never inferred such. It is no fault of mine what your Thain concluded by my mention of basic geography."

Bilbo looked away, and by the fury in those eyes, so heated and bright even in the darkness of the night, Balin knew he had cut deep with his words.

That was fine. Bilbo would most likely be on the receiving end of his lord's harsh words soon enough…and Thorin's strikes were meant to cripple. Better the hobbit get used to it now.

After taking some moments for composure, Bilbo murmured, "Doesn't matter much, does it? You got what you came for." He carefully upended the ashes of his pipe to the ground and killed the glowing embers. "Why me? Why now? What do you hope to accomplish by this arrangement? I have tried to wrap my mind around this and still cannot understand what use you have for me? Was it me in particular you were after, for I was told you did not look twice at any name but mine before deciding? Is it something as obscure as need for land? It just doesn't make sense."

"Your questions will be answered in time, Master Bilbo Baggins. Once we reach Erebor, all will be explained to you," Balin said calmly to the questions thrown at him.

Again, the quelled fury returned, and Bilbo could not control the rising pitch of his voice, "You owe me answers now, master dwarf!" he all but shouted. "You deceived my kin with dangerous words to conspire to kidnap me – and make no mistake I view this as an abduction. For whatever reason I am your prisoner, and will be a prisoner of your thieving king once we reach your home."

At the insult to their lord, Dwalin stood tall with a ferocious yell. Balin immediately took his brother's thick arm, wincing at how the hobbit went wide-eyed and pressed himself back into his pony's flank. Though Bilbo's words were true in a sense, that he was bound to them by no choice of his, Balin did not stomach well seeing fear in his charge's eyes and body. Bound to them yes. Obedient and compliant to their demands had to be absolute. Fear, _that_ Balin would try to avoid…at least unless Bilbo's fear achieved their designs.

Balin smiled, this time attempting the gentleness of one who had live long years and facing the fervor of youth. Bilbo Baggins was young, taken from his home and facing an uncertain future. " _His anger is justified, brother_ ," he said in Khazadul. " _Allow him his feelings for the time being._ "

Dwalin - steadfast and strong Dwalin – sneered at the hobbit and returned to his seat, taking an angry swig from the remains of his ale.

"I promised your kin that you will fall to no harm under our care," Balin said gently, not liking how the hobbit had curled his legs protectively in front of him, arms clasped around them so that he seemed so much tinier and vulnerable. "On my honor, Bilbo Baggins, you will come to no harm by us. This is a dwarf's promise to you and your kind that I am honor-bound to keep."

"Dwarves are supposed to be honorable and proud," Bilbo bit back, again surprising Balin how despite his cowed position the hobbit still fought back. "Tell me Mister Balin, where is the _honor_ in this affair? Where is your _pride_?"

Balin opened his mouth, wanting to attempt to mend at least some of the damages. It would not be good to deliver the hobbit to his lord so twisted with emotion.

Before he could speak and defend his honor, Bilbo snapped quickly, "Don't. Whatever you say, I will not be swayed in my opinion of you or your lord. I tire of this discussion and would appreciate we never speak of it again." His voice shook slightly, and he clasped a clenched fist to his temple. "I am _tired_."

His distress was palpable, but Balin curbed his instinct to protect – even if he were the cause of the injury.

It was some time later, as they had settled into their blankets to rest that Bilbo Baggins spoke again, "Mister Balin…please, your lord…" his voice timid and filled fearful hesitation.

"Thorin," said Balin, and he could not conceal the pride in his voice. "Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror."

"Your lord T-Thorin," the hobbit stammered. "Do you think he will let me come back? Will he let me see my home again?"

If Balin had been a lesser dwarf, he would have succumbed to the faint hope in the hobbit's voice. Had he been a lesser dwarf, he would have said _Of course Master Baggins you will see home again_ or _Do not you worry, everything will work out in the end_. But Balin was not a lesser dwarf. He was Balin, son of Fundin, elder brother to Dwalin, and he did _not_ give false promises.

"Go to sleep, Master Bilbo," he said as he gazed up to the stars. "Do not ask when you know you will not like the reply."

Bilbo did not ask any more questions that night. Nor for the rest of their long journey past the Ettenmoors and through Mount Gunduband into the Gray Mountains. Flatlands to jagged rocks they traveled through, past human settlements and dwarf halls deep in the mountains. Until finally the Lonely Mountain rose before them, tall and alone in magnificent majesty.

"Is that it?" Asked Bilbo, his skin paler since they entered the halls of the dwarves, face worn and tight with continued unhappiness. But there was a hint of wonder as he gazed at the mountain on their horizon. The small beat of life that Balin knew lay hidden beneath loneliness and despair. Balin once again acknowledged the fairness of Bilbo Baggins, and how it would please his lord.

It was Dwalin who spoke for him in response to the hobbit's inquiry, " _Erebor_ , master hobbit. Say the name and taste it."

"Erebor," Bilbo Baggins echoed, and Balin could almost believe that the hobbit really could taste home in the name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg. New chapter in less than a week! That NEVER happens. I think I just want to avoid studying for my statistics class. But who cares, you guys got another chapter! Let me know what you think, cause next chapter…
> 
> (drum roll)
> 
> THORIN!


	3. King Under the Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I cannot explain how overwhelmed I am by the amount of positive responses from chapter 2! Thank you so, so much for your wonderful support! Now, I added “AU” in my warnings because I really am going to continue to spectacularly fudge up the history of Middle Earth. I took some time actually THINKING about the plot and I believe I am finally satisfied knowing where this will go. I am going to keep my mouth shut about it because I want to try to gradually develop the story rather than tell you in this note. 
> 
> Chapter Warning: Naughty thoughts.

_“There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.”  
― _ [ _J.R.R. Tolkien_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/656983.J_R_R_Tolkien) _,_ [ _The Hobbit_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1540236)

* * *

Fear was not an emotion Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror was well acquainted with.  Succumbing to fear lead to acts of cowardice, and Thorin would take a dagger to his gut than to ever allow such a weakness.  Fear was irrational, something that sprang from the unknown, the lack of understanding, the incomprehension of one’s true nature.  It was the inability to control both the outside and what was within.  Only a coward lived by fear.

Thorin was no coward.

Yet, incomprehensible as it may seem, when word came to him that Balin and company were spotted at the gates of Erebor, Thorin knew fear.

For arriving with Balin was something unknown to Thorin.  Alien and unnatural to the halls of his kingdom, he found himself hesitant to rise from his seat, to respond or even acknowledge the announcement.  There was much to prepare for; papers had to be finalized, the lords of the court summoned, the rooms made ready…

Thorin did not move.  The quill in his hand dripped ink onto the document he was scribing, frozen as his heart was.  His eyes trained on the candles illuminating his desk, the small flames flickering, the melted wax sliding down the candle’s diminishing body.  The wicks needed to be trimmed tonight; he thought numbly, the servants were getting lax in their duties.

“Your Majesty,” whispered a voice excitedly behind him.  “Shall I document your first meeting for our histories?”  A nervous breath.  “It is the first of this kind, after all, and I do believe it important to be written down for generations to come.”

Slowly, as if rust were in his very joints, Thorin re-dipped the quill and resumed his writing.  “It is not necessary to meet at this time.  Balin will come to me once settled and we will confer then.”

“But…but…” the dwarf stammered, and Thorin heard him shuffle to the side and lean close to him.  Thorin kept his gaze down at his words, drying black on parchment. 

“I am busy, Ori,” he said.  No lie.  There was much to be done.

“But,” Ori protested, his voice as young as his years, “Do you not wish to meet your…your…the…” he floundered, and Thorin could almost see the redness of his flush.

Thorin felt his jaw clench, feeling a swift rise in temper.  “I am no dwarfling swept away in some flight of fancy.  Balin will settle things and then come.  That is all I need at this time, Ori.  Leave me.”

Chastised and dismissed, the young historian shrank away from his lord and left as ordered.   Alone, Thorin huffed in frustration and glared at the candle flames, knowing that he would not complete his writings now he was so disturbed.

Of all things!  What were young dwarves thinking of in these days, Thorin wondered?   As if this were the story of a tragic love ballad, to be sung in halls, taverns and to the wide eyes of the young. 

Thorin stood with a grimace and stalked out, paying no heed when he was immediately flanked at both sides by his guards.  During the rule of his grandfather Thror, there was never a need for guards and escorts or even arrangements with foreign folk outside the borders of Rhovanion.  The dwarves ruled their mountains, the elves kept to their trees, and the humans stayed in their cities.  It had been a golden time, one that Thorin still dreamed about most nights, of gold and glory…

_…This should never have happened…_

He retired to his rooms, shooing the servants away with a look.  He lit his own fire, and stroked it grimly till it burned hot and bright.  Thorin sat in his favorite chair facing it, clearing his mind of thought and worry, of the licks of unnamed fear that tried to burn a place in his heart.  He quelled it, iced it with his will, set his mind to the flames and burning cinder.

And waited.

It took some hours, but Balin came to him, silent and wise and missed these last few months.  The old dwarf took a seat, and Thorin poured him warm ale and served him, and Balin accepted it graciously from his lord’s hand.  Balin looked slightly worn from his travel, but he had washed and fixed himself for this audience, beard groomed and hair braided back with iron clasps.  There was a smile of contentment on his thin lips, but then Thorin knew how to read his old friend’s masks.

“So,” he spoke when Balin was done with his drink, “it was a success?”

“Aye,” Balin said, turning the mug in his weathered hands.  “Just as we were told.  Eerily simple really.  I am not used to things going so smoothly with not a single hitch.”

Thorin nodded, understanding the concern.  “The roads you traveled?”

“North, as ordered.  Traveled the passes most recently used, through the halls we knew still ruled by our kin.  We took no risks.”

He could not help a sigh of relief, sitting back and not even realizing he had been leaning forward in tension.  “What news from the Blue Mountains and from the north?”

“The colonies to the west understand the gravity of the situation.  However, I believe they will hesitate to rally at your command.  We should send one of our own there to maintain our presence.  It is peaceful there, my lord, and they grow round with contentment.”  Balin placed his mug to the side and interlaced his fingers, his thick browns drooping in weight.   “Our brothers to the north are anxious.  Dwalin and I could feel the tensions in the air, and acrid stench in the winds even when underground.  I no longer doubt the wizard’s words.”

Thorin could not help the snarl pull back his lips.

Wise old eyes observed him, missing nothing.  “I did not see the wizard on my way here.”

“He left some weeks ago,” Thorin growled with a wave of his hand.  “Some wizardly errand of some sort.  Of course it would take him away when we are in need of his presence!”

Now it was Balin leaning forward.  “And do we need him, my lord?”

Thorin met his friend’s eyes.

“You have not asked about the hobbit.”

“What would I accomplish by asking?”

Balin reclined with a shrug.  “Perhaps curiosity to actually seek him.  You are to be wed tomorrow after all.”

Thorin flinched and exclaimed, “So soon?”

“You are not one to dally away.  Even more, it might make our guest a bit more anxious to wait on the inevitable.”

Ah.  The hobbit.  “And is he…anxious?” Thorin could not help ask. 

“He is, though he tries to hide it.”  Balin smiled, “Quite stubborn, your consort.  He surprised me many a times on our journey here.  Even Dwalin warmed up to him in the end.”

There was affection in his old friend’s voice that Thorin was unprepared to hear.

“Thorin,” the smile was gone.  “He did not take this very well.  He was physically forced to sign our contract and is quite angry with being brought here.  He is unlike what we know of the other halflings, who really are quite simple creatures.”

“But not him,” asked Thorin.

“Not Bilbo Baggins,” Balin rubbed his nose, a nervous gesture. “I do wish Gandalf were here.  He did say he met him and knew his mother.  A familiar face might just give the hobbit some little comfort.”

Thorin frowned.  “Is he resisting?”

“Not really, no.”  Balin paused before saying, “He is just very unhappy.”

There was a sudden itch of irritation, and Thorin snarled, “And who is?  It must be done!”

“It does,” Balin agreed calmly.

Thorin stood, agitated.   “What do I care for a hobbit’s happiness?  His happiness nor despair will not change anything!”

“No, it won’t.”

“He is a mere piece on our board, nothing else.”

“Indeed.”

Thorin glared at the old dwarf, and then felt his shoulders fall.  “I am not cruel.  He will be safe at least.  Safer than if he stayed with is kin in their holes.  If they are as simple as you say, they have no clue of what is coming…of what their lands sit between.”  He turned to the fire, hands clasped behind him.  “Bilbo Baggins is safe here.  And if he plays his part well he might save his halfling brethren when the time comes.”

They needed the hobbit here, bound in marriage to Thorin.  This was not some easy whim, but necessity.  Thorin was a king, the son of kings and ruling was is his blood.  The burden of the crown was his life as was the sacrifice.  He would do what was needed of him, no fear, and no hesitancy.

_Tomorrow…_

“You have not asked what he looks like.  Whether he is fair to gaze upon or as round with lard as rumors say.”

Thorin blinked, turning back to his friend.

“Do you not intend to take the hobbit to bed?”

The question caught him off guard with its abruptness, and had Balin been anyone else Thorin would have roared at the crudity of it.  Instead, he forced the blood from his cheeks and replied coolly, “The contract is not complete without our consummation.  I will not shirk my duties.”

Balin nodded at his answer and stood with a clap to his thighs.  “Then let us go take a peek at your intended.  Perhaps you might find it in you to at least introduce yourself before tomorrow’s ceremony.”

“There is no need!” Snapped Thorin.

“Of course not,” agreed the white-haired dwarf, walking away.  “But it might help prepare for whatever disposition he might have during the ceremony.  It might help your thoughts for your night with him.”

Again with the crudity!  But the cunning fox was right…there was some benefit of at least _looking_.  What if the halfling were so hideously round that Thorin had to pull at folds of flesh?  What if he were of a delicate nature, for Balin said he was unhappy, and would try to run?  What if he was beautiful and Thorin would wish to touch him right there…

Balin waited for him to catch up, and this time when his two guards approached he told them to be at ease.  He wanted as little audience as possible.

The royal guest rooms were not far from the royal wing.  As planned there were no guests visiting Erebor, so the halls should have been empty.  Except, to Thorin’s alarm, one of the rooms had attracted a small group of hovering dwarves, raised voices coming from within.

_“Confound it!  Leave me alone!”_

_“Master Hobbit, this is quite improper!”_

As if sensing the presence of their king, one of the dwarves, a servant, looked over and paled.  With a hurried motion he alerted the other servants and within moments they had dispersed with frightened gasps.  This left Ori, standing nervously and clutching a large book and quill in hand, wide-eyed and unwilling to enter the room even with its door slightly ajar.

_“Keep your nasty hands to yourself!”_

_“Nasty?  I beg your pardon!_

Now that was enough!  Shoving past his quivering historian, Thorin threw the door open with such force that it slammed into the wall with a loud cracking noise. 

Dori, elder brother of Ori stood in the center of the room, and it took a moment for Thorin to remind himself that the other was a relative of his and had every right to have been in these halls.  He looked quite red in the face, and though not a strand of hair had come undone from his intricate array of braids, he looked quite out of sorts.  In his hands was a small open box of hair clasps of a similar design to Thorin’s own, and a length of rich blue cloth.  Ah, of course Dori would make sure the hobbit were dressed appropriately.

Opposite of him, standing on the other side of a small table was Bilbo Baggins, the hobbit, halfling from the Shire, and Thorin’s consort. 

The dwarf king felt his heart seize at the sight of him.  No fat ball of inactivity was Bilbo Baggins.  Small, very small boned with pale skin that was quite red in the cheeks in anger.  His hair was light colored, neither blond nor brown, but with curls that shone like beaten metal in the lamplight that lit his room.  His eyes were dark, but of what color Thorin was too far to discern.  His lips thin but with an attractive curve to them.  The hobbit looked young and soft and very vulnerable for he wore no layers of clothes or mail, nor had any weapon at his belt.

The hobbit was staring right at him.

Thorin had to remind himself to _breathe_.

“My..my lord!” Dori was stammering.  “Please forgive the ruckus we have made!  I only meant to prepare Master Baggins for…”

Balin, blessedly wise Balin stepping past Thorin and assessing the situation.  “Your intentions were noble, Dori,” he said.  “However, our good hobbit seems quite exhausted from our travels.  Perhaps tomorrow you may prepare his garb once he’s been granted a night’s rest?”

“O-of course!”  With great care, Dori placed both box and cloth on the table, taking a moment to brush out an imagined wrinkle before he bowed to Thorin and walked out with a hurried, “Come Ori.”

The door was shut, the lock clicked.

There was a silence.  The hobbit kept his position behind the table and Thorin willed his lungs to keep him standing.

Balin cleared his throat, gesturing with a grand hand.  “Mister Bilbo, it is with great honor that I introduce you to Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain.”  He then looked at his lord with a grin, “Thorin, this is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

Thorin could not arrest his eyes from the hobbit, noting how thin fingers spread over the surface of the table, how those dark eyes darted between him and Balin, the redness in his cheeks leaving as his temper was calmed.  He only wore a white shirt with a bit of design weaved into it, with braces over his shoulders and soft looking pants.  There was a red jacket and embroidered scarf draped over a chair.  Dori’s entrance was unexpected, catching the halfling by surprise it seemed.

“Master Balin,” something hot and molten settled in his gut at the sound of the hobbit’s voice – and he suddenly wished to be addressed with that voice – to be alone so that only he could hear the sounds that came from those lips.  “Am I to be dressed up like some type of dwarf doll?  I am a hobbit and will wear my own clothes for the ceremony!”

Before Balin could respond, Thorin found his feet stepping forward, his voice low when he said, “You will wear my colors.”

There, he could see them now!  Dark blues so deep they could only belong in Erebor.  Bilbo’s eyes were stones incased in ice, so cold they could burn anyone unworthy who touched.  And no one would come near him, here in Thorin’s mountain, for the hobbit was his now, to be held and touched and beholden by the king alone.

Thorin was suddenly very pleased.

“You will wear my colors,” repeated Thorin, his fingers brushing against the edges of the Dori’s blue cloth.  “You will wear my clasps so all who see you will know whom you belong to.”

The hobbit’s mouth dropped open, face frozen in perplexity.

Thorin wanted to reach forward and press his thumb against that mouth, to see how those features would change as he touched the hobbit.

 _His_ hobbit.  No one else would dare lay such a claim.

The sound of a small fist hitting wood startled him from his thoughts, and with a blink Bilbo Baggins had placed himself before Thorin.  Such quiet feet, bare and large for his body, but stealthy weapons!

“What right,” spat the halfling, “do you believe you have over me?”  He was pale now, his anger no longer burned hot on his cheeks, much cooler was his rage.

Foolish little creature, Thorin had right to everything.  “The right of your husband.  The right of your king.”

Fascinating eyes narrowed, drowning Thorin  “And is it written anywhere that a husband and king has right to force his colors on his spouse?”  Cunning.  His hobbit was cunning and standing so close he could feel hot blood furiously pumping to his little heart.

Thorin felt no reason why he should hold himself back for propriety’s sake.  This bewitchingly angry creature was already his to claim on paper.  No one could fault him at all if he reached out for what was his. 

He lifted his hand and brought his fingers to the curls touching the upward tilt of the hobbit’s curious ear.  His consort froze at his touch, a small sound coming from his lips when Thorin loomed over him, forcing him to look straight up. 

“It says that you must obey me, Master Hobbit,” he said huskily, enjoying the feel of his halfing’s hair between his fingers.  “And if I wish you to dress in my colors, you shall obey.  Are we in agreement?”

Instead of the affirmation he expected, his touching hand was struck sharply to the side, a slight stinging blow that startled more than hurt.  Though the halfing had neither muscle nor skill to cause any type of harm, Thorin found himself stunned that Bilbo found the audacity to raise his hand against him.

But Bilbo was shrinking back, two steps to create distance rather than preparing to strike at him again.  One small hand was clutching the side of his face where Thorin had touched him, the other arm wrapped protectively around his soft torso.  “So this is how it will be?” he asked in a haunting voice that Thorin almost felt shamed by his actions.  Bilbo then dropped his arms to his sides in resignation.  “I am no more than a slave to you, am I?”

Thorin took a step forward, wanting to take his hobbit in his arms, to run hands beneath clothes so that he would understand that it was not true!  Bilbo was no slave!  All he had to do was obey and all would be well!

But Balin was suddenly between them, and Thorin looked at his friend and wondered how had he lost himself so that he had forgotten that he had not been alone with his halfling…Balin had seen everything…

“Perhaps,” his friend was saying in the same tone he used when coming between two disputing lords, “We shall have Dori arrange that a jacket very much like the ones you own is made for the ceremony?  It will be in the same style of the Shire but in your king’s colors as is our way.  How does that sound, Master Bilbo?”

Bilbo swallowed then nodded once. “If his Majesty agrees?” he acquiesced so formally.

Balin gave Thorin a look that he had not been on the receiving end since he was a dwarfling. 

 _Fine then._  “I shall allow it.”  He watched as his hobbit’s shoulders dropped in silent relief, fingers that had been clenched in fists relaxed.

He did this.  To rile Bilbo Baggins into fury, to frighten him into submission and to grant him such kindnesses.  Only _he_ had the power to do this. 

“Then it’s settled!” Balin was saying, a firm hand landing on Thorin’s shoulder and guiding him away from the hobbit and out the door.  “That is enough excitement for one evening!  Do try to get some rest, Master Bilbo, for tomorrow shall be a long day.  Good evening.”

He shut Bilbo’s door before the hobbit had a chance to respond in kind, and continued to manhandle Thorin down the hall, ignoring the stares of the few straggling servants.  Escorting him like a mischievous child caught in some indiscretion.  Almost, Thorin wanted to protest at being handled so, but his mind was dancing to tomorrow…

_Tomorrow…tomorrow…_

Finally, Balin stopped and came about so he stood in front of his king.  He made sure he had Thorin’s full attention when he admonished, “ _That_ was a bit cruel.”

“It is my right.”

“It is,” agreed Balin, his voice reproaching. 

Thorin looked away, uncomfortable.  “I could have said it differently,” he paused.  “Gentler.”

Balin crossed his arms.

“And though he is pleasing to look at,” he continued, staring into the shadows of his hall, “and is mine to touch as much as I desire, I did not need to force myself on him in that way.”

“True.”

Balin never made it easy on him.  “We could have sat down and talked.  I might have made him understand…if a little…what it will mean for him to be my consort.  I could have told him why he was chosen and not some other hobbit.  I _should_ have told him about that blasted wizard.”

“Tomorrow then,” Balin said.  “After the ceremony you can take the time to actually have a conversation with him.”

_Tomorrow…Tomorrow…_

He could still feel the silky curl of Bilbo’s hair on his fingertips.

Thorin smiled.

“Tomorrow, Balin, I take Bilbo Baggins to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So yeah, Thorin isn’t cruel…he just sometimes fails at not being cruel.  
> Next time…marriage!


	4. An Inevitable Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by a trip to the hospital, lots of meds and final exams YAY! I was curled up in bed and said, 'alright Bilbo Baggins, it's time…" got off my butt and started picking at this chapter. I did this for everyone who commented, left private messages, bookmarked, kudo'd and whatever else you did to let me know you were reading and enjoying what I had written. This is for all of you beautiful people.
> 
> Chapter Warning: King Thrain (cause he scared me) Dub consensual sex.

  
" _There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, __The Hobbit_

* * *

Long before he walked through the gates of Erebor, Bilbo Baggins had concluded that the dwarves were a most peculiar race. Despite having traveled weeks accompanied by two very dwarfish dwarves, walked down into the belly of mountains and through large gaping halls of their northern kingdoms, Bilbo could not seem to figure them out. It wasn't as if he had never been exposed to dwarves before his forced exile, there had been a few merchants who had made their way to Hobbiton to sell their wares. He knew them to be strong bodied and hardworking individuals with little tact in their words and actions. From the stories he had been told, they were very proud and stubborn to a fault, but had little to do with the flowery words of the elves and the political manipulations of the humans.

They were a simpler folk, Bilbo assumed, perhaps just as close they were close in height to hobbits there were similarities in habits and temperaments.

Never had Bilbo been so wrong.

Their notorious pride came from the possessions they acquired, shining jewels mined from deep caverns of their cold mountains, metals and ores and currency was how they spoke. Dwarves took pride in his flowing beards, braids, and adornments, the ink tattooed into their skin and the scars of battles that they displayed as if it spoke of their character and worth. Their violence was brutal and horrifying to behold, for there was no mercy if one infringed on another's possession. Fights broke out quick and loud over the simplest of slights, and even more terrifying by how crowds cheered and shouted at such barbarity in their incomprehensive harsh language.

Balin and his hulking brother Dwalin had attempted to explain a few customs to him during their travels, however Bilbo had felt closed off to his companions, anger twisting in his heart with nothing to direct it except his escorts. He understood that they were merely the hands that did the bidding of their king, yet they were the image in his head whenever he allowed himself to think of his predicament.

That is, until he met his husband, Thorin son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain.

And Thorin son of Thrain was truly the epitome of a dwarf. Their brief yet disastrous introduction showed his character, immediately ready to possess Bilbo with little care to his comfort, wanting to already strip him of his identity to be an addition to his wealth of treasures.

Bilbo resented him. This dwarf who was the one who ordered his acquisition, who by his word stripped Bilbo of everything he cared and loved, kidnapped him to this lonely mountain so far from home.

"How is the fit, Master Bilbo?"

Bilbo blinked at the dwarf named Dori, who was kneeling before him and pulling the hem of the dark blue robe he had brought in preparations of the ceremony. They stood out in a large hallway before two gold encrusted doors that would lead to whichever room the marriage ceremony would be held in. Four fierce looking dwarf guards armed with both spear and ax stood in attention, but other than their unfathomable watching eyes both hobbit an fussy dwarf were alone.

Bilbo moved his arms, testing the tightness at his shoulders and finding them satisfactory. Thorin's colors were black and a deep blue as fit his royalty. Fur trimmed the inside and at the hem, warm and amazingly soft, with silver stitching that somehow made Bilbo think of a full moon amid a dark night sky.

Dori stood, looking far too smug for Bilbo's liking. To distract himself he took a moment to study the dwarf's braided hair, how it had been pulled intricately around his head in a fashionable style. How long did Dori take each morning to prepare, combing through both beard and hair's thickness, planning the design and then actually braiding the hair? Bilbo knew quite a few hobbit females who would love to have Dori over for tea to talk about different hair styles.

Something sharp twisted in Bilbo's heart at the stray thought.

"Ah," exclaimed Dori, pulling Bilbo away from thoughts of hair and home. "Here come the princes. You have not met them, have you, Master Bilbo?"

"Princes?" Bilbo gaped from his companion to the two young looking dwarves approaching them.

They were a handsome sort, at least in Bilbo's standards. They looked to have come from the king's line, with clean features, and simple braids on both sides coming down their temples. They were in blue as fit the royal colors, with fur and silver.

One, with blond hair announced loudly, "Fili."

"And Kili," stated the second – this one had more of King Thorin's coloring.

"At your service," they said in unison, both bowing deep from their waists.

Bilbo stammered an, "At yours…" before turning bewildered eyes at Dori. "Sons? Thorin has already been wed?"

Dori in turned gave the hobbit an equally bewildered look. "My dear Master Bilbo, where on earth did you hear a thing? Though Prince Fili is heir-apparent, they are his majesty's nephews!" He then frowned, "Did Balin not explain anything to you?"

Had Balin even attempted to say anything on the subject after their terse conversation shortly after leaving Hobbiton, Bilbo knew he would have rebuffed him. The old dwarf was a master with words and Bilbo could not trust anything that came from the tactician.

All Dwalin cared to speak about was meat, battle and Erebor.

So Bilbo had chosen silence and ignorance as a way to cope. It would keep him objective, he had thought, to not allow himself to be showered by lies about his husband and new home. He was no simpleton, he was not soft. He was a Baggins and Baggins were not easily swayed nor taken advantage of – even if forced into unwanted marriage contracts.

Before he could think of anything in retort, there was a sudden flurry of action as the guards stamped their booted feet and the hall was suddenly filled with dwarfs announcing, "Here comes the King! The King is here!"

But it was not King Thorin who came, flanked at all sides by guards and servants and noble dwarfs alike. No, it was a different dwarf with the same baring of authority, but older with white peppering his long dark beard. A large crown lay cradled on the dwarf's head, glimmering with diamonds and other stones that Bilbo could not name. He was horrifically scarred over one eye, the flesh caved in to cover where the missing organ once sat. This dwarf was scowling horribly, dark brows low, skin drooping down, and a snarl at his tight lips.

Bilbo was suddenly afraid as a single blue eye narrowed onto where he stood beside Dori and the prince-nephews. He wanted to step back, to seek refuge behind his companion, to be removed from the sights of this imposing scarred monstrosity.

"So," this new king cast a shadow over Bilbo, "this is the hobbit. I heard great things about you, yet I see nothing more than a small grocer."

Humiliated heat flushed Bilbo's cheeks at the insult; he bit his tongue in a way to curb any sharp reply.

The lone eye studied him for a brief moment and stopped when gazing at Bilbo's head. A large thick hand reached up and tangled into Bilbo's hair, causing the hobbit to gasp in shock and then pain as ringed fingers curled into his locks and gripped him in a firm hold.

"Hey!" Bilbo cried, his hands reaching up to pry the fingers off him. "Let go!"

"Dori," the king's voice boomed, the sound echoing horribly down the halls and through Bilbo's teeth. "I tasked you to see that the hobbit was attired appropriately, yet my son's emblem is not adorned in this creature's hair. Surely you had some available, yes?"

Dori was beside them; hands clasped and sweat beading at his brow. "Yes…yes, my lord Thrain, there were clasps made ready for Master Bilbo for this occasion."

"And yet I see none to show my son's claim."

"His claim?!" Sputtered Bilbo.

"Your majesty," Dori begged in a trembling voice, "Please, if you give me a moment to explain…"

"Quiet," King Thrain was not looking at the other dwarf, but down as he slowly applied pressure to Bilbo's skull, forcing the hobbit to his knees with a strained grunt. "Tell me with your own little voice, hobbit, why do you not wear your husband's clasps in your hair? Why such disobedience? I can see it in your eyes, your defiance."

From his position with knees pressed into the cold hard floor and hands above him trying to get loose, Bilbo shouted, "What I do or do not do is between my husband and I! What right do you have to handle me so?"

Bilbo heard horrified gasps right before the dwarf pulled harshly, forcing Bilbo's head back and extending his back into a painful arc. The dwarf king leaned over him like a stalking animal over his prey, mad rage simmering barely controlled in his eye. When he spoke, his voice was low and venomous, "I am Thrain son of Thror, King of Erebor. I have right to your obedience."

" _Thorin_ ," snapped Bilbo loudly, "is the king whom I signed my contract with. _Thorin_ is my husband. Not _Thrain_."

Thrain pulled closer so Bilbo could feel his breath on his face and see the spittle on his lips. "You tempt me, little grocer."

"Father!"

The world seemed to freeze in that moment, and slowly Bilbo managed to turn his head slightly to see, standing tall beyond the hulking troll holding him, was King Thorin. Prince Fili, pale and pensive stood with hand one had on his uncle's arm. Balin, who in all the time Bilbo knew him never broke his façade of calm, looked downright frightened from his position behind his lord.

Two kings. _TWO_ kings.

Bilbo wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. What would any kingdom need two kings for?

_What HAVE you gotten yourself into, Bilbo Baggins?_

He was abruptly released, and would have fallen had not Prince Kili materialized beside him, helping him silently to his feet while keeping large eyes trained on his grandfather and uncle.

"You have a disobedient spouse at your hands, Thorin," King Thrain said, walking regally to his son and clapping him heartily on the shoulder. "Hobbits are usually timid and docile creatures. Yours seems quite defective."

Thorin in turn gave his father's shoulder a squeeze before detangling himself and approaching Bilbo, eyes dark as he took the hobbit in from his shaking knees to abused hair. "I am not displeased by my decision. Quite the opposite." He too then reached up and ran his fingers through Bilbo's hair.

Instinctively, Bilbo wanted nothing more than to slap the offending touch away; however he noted the gentleness of the touch and the gleaming look in Thrain's eye – watching their interaction closely. Swallowing hard at this, knowing that however he reacted could spur something out of his control, Bilbo stayed himself and allowed Thorin's careful exploration.

"You do not wear my clasps," Thorin noticed.

"They were heavy," Bilbo replied immediately before anyone could jump in. "Every time Mister Dori tried to attach them they would come loose and fall."

Dori came forward, "That was what I was trying to explain to his majesty before this unfortunate misunderstanding." He said with evident relief. "Master Bilbo's hair is too short just yet to apply any of the heavier clasps, and there were none that were made small enough to stay."

Thorin took a moment to consider this before lifting both hands on one clasp at his temple and undoing it. Bilbo kept his eyes at the links of chainmail at Thorin's chest as the dwarf king gently gathered a bit of his hair and pinned the small clasp securely just above the hobbit's right ear.

"Does it stay?" Thorin asked, both hands hovering on either side of Bilbo's head.

Bilbo obligingly tilted his head side to side to test its hold, then said, "It holds, your Majesty."

"Let us get this over with then," Thorin said with a deep breath.

And Bilbo found himself holding his when the dwarf king reached down and took his hand in his as drums began to sound and the golden doors opened.

_Now_.

* * *

Bilbo was married to King Thorin in a language he did not understand, surrounded by a race not his own, without a single friend nor family member standing beside him or witnessing the activities. His hand stayed firmly in the dwarf king's, even when both their joined palms were showered in stone and sand – what significance, Bilbo cared not to wonder. He kept his eyes away from King Thrain, who married them off loudly and with words that seemed more for battle than marriage.

They exchanged blood. Both thumbs pierced and three drops from each fell into a goblet of red wine from which they both drank from. Bilbo had to keep himself from sucking at the sore appendage.

Such an odd people were these dwarves.

Bilbo followed along with whatever he was instructed to do, playing the obedient little hobbit as he stepped forward and back, sat and stood, greeted and waved. Not once throughout these proceedings did King Thorin lean over and whisper anything to him, nor did Bilbo ask anything from any of the dwarves.

By the time all ceremonies were complete, and feasts consumed, and visitors properly intoxicated with ale, Bilbo was ready to collapse from pure exhaustion. He did not protest when Balin took him by the arm and escorted him away from the festivities, stating that his presence was no longer required.

He was escorted not to the rooms he had slept in the previous night, but further down another corridor – the dwarves did love their corridors – through guarded doors to what Bilbo realized were the royal suites.

"Princes Fili and Kili's rooms are across from King Thorin's rooms, which you of course will be sharing," said Balin, indicated each door. "King Thrain maintains the rooms furthest to the right, beside yours, and finally Princess Dis beside her sons' on the left – though she prefers to stay in the Iron Hills and is hardly here for more than a few days at a time."

So there was a princess in the midst of this mad rabble of dwarf royalty. How many more would come out of the woodwork in the next couple of days? Perhaps there was a third king hiding beneath the mattress?

King Thorin's room was not as large as Bilbo feared it would be. The bed, which could easily fit eight hobbits comfortably, was carved from the stone of the mountain itself and lined with crystals twinkling in the lamplight. There were windows, and a door made of stained glass, and through them Bilbo could see the dark night sky with stars shining like nature's gemstones.

There was a passageway to a private bathing room, with mirrors, tapestries and weapons adorning all the walls. There was a large fireplace with sitting chairs and a desk to one side. A large wardrobe stood in a corner, and Bilbo immediately saw his bag and small chest resting there. The only hobbit presence in such a dwarfish room.

"My lord Thorin will be here shortly," Balin said. "Not too long I hope, but ample time for you to look around yourself and get comfortable. You two will not be disturbed till morning, so no need to worry about any interruption."

Bilbo swallowed hard, not liking the insinuation. Clearing his throat, he stepped forward and looked to the old dwarf. "The contract. I was never given a chance in Hobbiton to look it over properly. When can I look it over?"

Balin seemed taken aback by his question. "I carried it with me all this time, yet only now you ask when it is no longer in my possession. Your timing, Master Bilbo, is quite unfortunate."

Clasping his hands behind him, Bilbo forced the steel in his voice. "If you no longer have it, then who might I ask?"

"Why, your lord husband I would say."

Bilbo turned away, not wanting the other to see the turmoil that was surely evident on his face. "Very well then. I will ask him when he comes."

The dwarf's voice was condescendingly gentle when he said, "I highly doubt my lord will be in much of a talking mood when he arrives. Perhaps tomorrow once things have…settled."

"Mister Balin," Bilbo snapped. "I do not appreciate your implications!"

Balin sounded anything but contrite when he replied, "I thought you appreciated frankness over what you construe as wordy guile."

"It is your crude insinuation that I take offense to, not your candor."

"Then forgive me, Master Bilbo, for I meant no offense."

He was smiling. The damn old dwarf was smiling, making light of Bilbo's outrage as if he were a child out of sorts that needed to be put to bed.

Except this bed would be shared with King Thorin, and sleeping was not on the agenda tonight…at least not at first…

Bilbo did not want to think of it, not yet. Giving Balin a dirty look he stalked to the bathing room without a word. Once thoroughly cleansed, he found a soft dressing gown and robe about his size and dressed, happy to find that the offensive old dwarf was gone…

…and then appalled to find King Thorin in his place.

He was mostly undressed, in cut-off breeches and white shirt with ties undone to reveal his neck and a bit of his hairy chest. He sat reclined, barefoot, in a sitting chair beside the fireplace. It irked Bilbo to find that even in such a relaxed state, King Thorin looked every bit of a king.

Sure that his voice would break, or croak, or do something equally humiliating, Bilbo opted to keep quiet. He walked past the fireplace to the opposite corner, reaching down to his bag and opening the wardrobe to put it out of the way. The chest followed, and once Bilbo shut the wardrobe doors he turned and nearly jumped out of his skin to find King Thorin standing right behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Bilbo exclaimed, turning back to the wardrobe so that he did not have to look at the other. "Creeping around like a burglar! You scared the life out of me."

"You seemed quite intent on ignoring my presence," said the dwarf, and Bilbo shifted in discomfort at the truth in his words.

He huffed. "Do you blame me? You have done nothing to endear me to you, nor your cause – whatever that might be. You own father accosted me this morning and I am still weary from my journey here." At the silence, Bilbo continued, but this time with a bit of hesitancy, "I did not know your father still held title of king. I assumed he had died and you had taken the throne. Is this normal among you dwarves? To be ruled by more than one king?"

There was a chuckle behind him, a low warm rumbling. "No, this is not our custom, at least not under the same mountain. At times both my father and I do not know where we stand with each other?"

Bilbo wrapped his arms around himself. "And where do I stand in all of this?"

"Beside me," this was whispered into his ear, making Bilbo flinch slightly at the suddenness of it. "You fall under my protection and rule as I am your husband and king. Though like any living in these halls, you obey my father, King Thrain, but only as long as it does not contradict my direct orders to you."

"I do not want him to touch me again," Bilbo said, finally turning his body to face the other. Forcing his chin up, he lifted his eyes and met the blues of the king. "Can you do that?"

"I can order my staff to intervene if something like that happens again." He smiled and brought his hands to Bilbo's arms, not gripping them but running them up and down. "Balin said that you were not a creature of questions."

Bilbo allowed the touch, studying the dwarf's face. "Mister Balin has a tendency of telling lies by speaking truths. Why would I ask him anything and expect an honest reply?"

"He is loyal to me, and as we are bound together, he would lay down his life for me and mine."

"And that is what I am? Yours?"

"Yes." The hands were no longer petting, but traveled up to the top of his robe and firmly pulled it down to expose the top of Bilbo's sleeping gown, giving easier access to the hobbit's skin. "You are covered by too many layers," King Thorin murmured before leaning down and burying his nose in Bilbo's hair, inhaling.

Bilbo ducked and tried to side step, but arms took him by the waist and he was lifted. Before he had a chance to protest he was divested onto the bed with the robe being pulled from him and sleeping gown riding up.

"Wait!" he cried out in panic, hands grasping a pillow and shoving it between him and dwarf king.

King Thorin immediately pulled back, allowing Bilbo to shift into a seated position with the pillow clutched in his arms. The hobbit gulped loudly at the heated look on the dwarf's face and the obvious need pressing against the trousers. He was aroused. How in the world could a dwarf be aroused by him?

Bilbo tried to keep the quaver from his voice, but failed when he asked, "Do we have to do this tonight? Or is this just because you desire it?"

"Both," was the immediate response. "The contract is not complete until we consummate. It is merely coincidental that I find you comely and wish to bed you." He leaned forward so that he was on both hands and knees. "What of me? Do you find nothing desirable about me?"

"I do not know you!"

"This is not about familiarity. It is about necessity." The dwarf reached for one of Bilbo's ankles, running the back of his hand over the hair on top of his foot. "And through this necessity I find myself attracted to your body. Tonight I do not need to know anything other than you are Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, my husband, and that I wish to touch you." The hand traveled up, shifting the gown to expose more of Bilbo's legs. "Will you fight me in this, Bilbo?" he asked, keeping his eyes on Bilbo even as his hand explored the soft flesh of the hobbit's thigh. "Will you allow me to try to make this pleasurable for the both of us? Despite everything that you think I do not wish you harm."

Bilbo tucked his leg back and turned on his knees, burying his face into the pillow. "You've already done harm by bringing me here. What more could you do?"

The dwarf king pressed himself into Bilbo's back, hands once again pulling his gown up and traveling between his legs.

At Bilbo's gasp, King Thorin nuzzled the side of the hobbit's neck and asked, "Will you resist me, Bilbo?"

Shuddering, Bilbo shook his head, biting his lip as strong hands found what they were seeking and began to stroke. He kept his face in the pillow even when pressed forward with the dwarf's hands keeping his hips up and knees positioned wide so that he was exposed. Bilbo kept down and allowed himself to be breached by oiled fingers, stretched and prepared. Even though frightened, he allowed the dwarf king to stroke him till completion, milking him dry with clever and far more experienced hands. He did not struggle when finally the dwarf deemed him prepared to be mounted, driving his large organ into him to the point that Bilbo thought him torn in half.

He did not weep, though Bilbo could not stop the pained tears of the initial penetration. He allowed King Thorin to hold him steady as he thrust into him carefully, patiently letting the dwarf reach his own ecstasy through his rutting.

King Thorin did not leave him once done; rather he cleansed the two of them thoroughly with a warm wet cloth. The moist warmth caused Bilbo to stir, which amused his husband greatly. Pressing Bilbo flat onto his back, he aligned their penises together in one hand and stroked. Bilbo's hands sought purchase on the king's shoulders, and as heat coiled in his loins he found himself thrusting up with as much enthusiasm as the other.

Once again it was Bilbo who lost control first followed shortly by the king. This time both barely had enough energy to wipe themselves clean before falling into oblivion.

Bilbo's last thought was of Thorin's hand on his hip, hot like molten lava branding him deep through skin, muscle and bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concerning King Thrain's characterization. Keep in mind that Erebor has not been taken by Smaug and the dwarves were never cast out of their homes to wander homeless. Erebor still stands with all its glory and wealth, so all that precious gold that the dragon coveted is STILL there. Thror succumbed to Gold Madness…so why not Thrain? And even, to a certain extent, Thorin?


	5. The King's Consort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite an interesting group of readers I have! Some people want to burn Erebor to the ground, some think everything is hot, and some are having mental anxieties due to the nature of this story! Well…here's some more!
> 
> Chapter Warning: Character perspectives. Voyeurism. Third person smut.

 

" _There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, __The Hobbit_

* * *

**Marriage Contract of Thorin son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain and Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, King's Consort**

1) The King's Consort is required to live wherever the King resides  
2) The King shall provide maids and servants for any daily needs of cleaning, food and wardrobe for the Consort  
3) The King's Consort is required to obey all laws of Erebor without question  
4) The King's Consort is required to obey the King without question  
5) The King shall protect the Consort from all forms of external harm that may come from enemies of the line of Durin  
6) Both King and Consort are forbidden to strike the other in anger  
7) The King shall provide and control all finances for the Consort  
8) All lands owned by the Consort prior to marriage and/or inherited or acquired after marriage, will have ownership transferred to the King  
9) The King reserves the right to manage all assets and possessions of the Consort  
10) The King's Consort reserves the right to find employment outside of the royal palace, but not outside the borders of Erebor  
11) The King reserves the right to approve of any workplace the Consort might choose before he accepts a job  
12) The King's Consort may not leave Erebor unless accompanied by the King or with written permission from the King  
13) The King's Consort is forbidden from learning, speaking, reading and writing _Khuzdul_.  
14) In the event of the death of the King, the contract will be transferred to Dain son of Nain, King of the Iron Hills, unless Fili or Kili sons of Dis, Princes of Erebor, lay claim within three months  
15) Both King and Consort are not required to produce heirs  
16) Both King and Consort are required to fulfill any desires of the flesh requested by the other  
17) Both King and Consort are forbidden from seeking partnership with another outside of this contract  
18) In the event the King's Consort break any of the above requirements he forgoes any freedom of movement without armed escorts appointed by the King  
19) In addition to what is stated above, the King's Consort is required to bear witness the execution of anyone convicted of accessory  
20) This contract can only be dissolved in the event of the death of the King's Consort

* * *

The hobbit was upset, Ori observed.

He could tell by the hunched posture of his small back, the way his hand clutched at the thin hairs that grew at his temple, the way his breath came out sharp and short as if it were laborious to take in and out air.

King Thorin had asked him that morning to bring the marriage contract for the hobbit to read. Ori had been a bit put out by the request, for the document had just been sealed and shelved with the marriage archives. Why did the fickle creature only ask now for the document when it had been traveling with him for weeks?

Ori had read about hobbits and how simple their brains were. Such a shame King Thorin was burdened with this duty – for the king deserved to be paired with a mind and temperament equal to his own. Yet he had witnessed, and his brother Dori complained loudly enough of Bilbo Baggins' sharp tongue. Could a simpleton lash out words to his betters and come victorious?

However…Balin _had_ seemed pleased with the hobbit…

Ori cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon, Master Bilbo, but is there something you find dissatisfying by the contract?" he asked, taking a step closer.

The hobbit did not look up at him, but his brows knitted into a deep frown. "Dissatisfying?" he repeated as if not comprehending its meaning.

Really now.

"My Westron is a bit rusty, but I tried to choose the words as accurate as possible."

Now the hobbit looked at him. "You wrote this?"

Ori puffed his chest proudly, "I am the best scribe and historian in all of Erebor." At the hobbit's blank stare Ori could not help but ask, "Do you find it difficult to read? Would you like me to read it for you?"

He realized his mistake by the small spots of pink that blossomed on the hobbit's cheeks. "I can read just fine," Bilbo Baggins snapped, rolling the contract with angry twists of his wrists. Ori cringed at how the paper folded harshly. Did hobbits not care to preserve their precious documents?

He could not help but wince when the contract was shoved at him. Dismayed at both the mistreatment and that his assumption had angered the King's Consort when he already was so obviously unhappy.

"Please forgive my presumption, Master Bilbo," he ducked his head. "It's just you seem displeased and I cannot understand where the contract falls short. I assumed it might be because I translated something incorrectly."

"No," the hobbit shook his head. "It was perfectly legible. I did not find fault there."

Again, the hunched back and short breaths. Ori leaned in closer, trying to gentle his voice in concern, "Is there anything that I can help you with?"

"Nothing," the hobbit's smile seemed brittle on such an open face, "Nothing at all."

* * *

Bilbo Baggins seemed disinclined to leave the royal suites, Dori was discouraged to find.

"Master Bilbo," he implored – it seemed to be his constant state since the hobbit's arrival. "I am sure a nice walk will brighten your disposition. You gave my brother Ori quite a fright with your moodiness."

The hobbit sat in one of the sitting chairs, hairy feet resting on a footrest warming before a toasty fire that had been well kept throughout the day. It made the suite incredibly stuffy and suffocating. Perhaps he could open a window?

"I did nothing to warrant your brother's concern," the hobbit retorted. Such an argumentative creature this hobbit was!

Dori placed his fists on his waist and thrust his chest forward in a display of authority. Really now, it was as if he had become a nursemaid trying to navigate through the sensitive hobbit's temper tantrums. He could not predict what Bilbo Baggins would find offensive next!

"It is close to evening and you have not left your rooms. The nobles of the court have been asking about you. It is quite peculiar that you have not been seen all day."

"His majesty said that I could rest," the hobbit grimaced. "Where I rest was not specified to me. I know not of the peculiarities of dwarves."

Dori could feel the blood rising to his head, and his fingers itched to shake sense into the impertinent creature's little head. He stilled his temper though. Thorin and Balin had both appointed him to the task of looking after the hobbit as he acclimated to Erebor and his role of King's Consort. Never did he think that he would be met by such a small being with the pride that matched a battalion of dwarves and the cool temper of elven royalty.

He had traveled east to the Blue Mountains decades ago, and had the pleasure of meeting quite a few hobbits on the road. He found them to be an agreeable race, cheerful if a little wary of the wicked weapons he wore. He never thought a hobbit such as Bilbo Baggins existed; and to be married to King Thorin!

So Dori took a moment to cool his constantly raising ire and thought of what might currently be distressing his charge. "Perhaps," he said with great hesitancy, "you might require a salve? Are you sore from last night's activities, Master Bilbo?"

"Is nothing private to you dwarves?" the hobbit exclaimed in outrage, face beet red and _finally_ showing some emotion other than the previous nonchalance.

"Do you require a salve, Master Bilbo," Dori was undeterred by the other's anger, noting with a bit of disgrace how carefully Bilbo moved in his seat and wondering why it took him so long to notice. "There is no shame in this. You are quite smaller in size than my lord Thorin. I would actually be surprised if you did not feel any discomfort for he is known for his passions."

Even the very tips of the hobbit's ears blushed red. "Is he now?" Bilbo spat. "And you would know this how, Mister Dori? Have you two shared _passions_?"

The thought was so absurd that Dori let out a bellow of laughter, pleased to see that through his mirth the hobbit's pallor returned to near normal. "My dear," he giggled as he lowered himself into a chair beside his charge. "Though Thorin holds my loyalty, he has never asked me to bed. Only you have claim over him in this."

Bilbo looked away to the fire, clearing his throat. "But he has had previous lovers? He did not deem any of them worthy of marriage?"

Dori interlocked his fingers over his belly, leaning back into his seat as he replied, "What Thorin needed was a hobbit, Master Bilbo, and he chose _you_."

* * *

The King's Consort was a delicate looking thing that housed a mountain troll, Nori noted.

There were not many dwarves who could boast about their skills in stealth as Nori could, and it was for this skill that Thorin had tasked him in observing his little hobbit from the Shire. Tall and lithe, Nori could climb any tree or stone, knew where best to cover in shadows and where to hide in light. He could find the blind spots in any room to remain unnoticed, and had a plethora of techniques to disguise himself in public.

Nori enjoyed this, keeping hidden while able to observe what others did in private. It was empowering in knowing what another said in sleep, how they looked without mail and ax while bathing, and the vulnerabilities they allowed only before their loved ones.

He was sure the king did not know the extent of Nori's spying.

He was sure the king would disapprove.

Perhaps it was because of Thorin has specifically said, "When I enter you will leave. What happens between myself and the hobbit is between a husband and spouse. Are we in understanding?"

Of course there were in understanding. But just because Nori understood did not mean he would obey. Perhaps had the king not placed such a boundary Nori might have found some decency in to allow them their time together unobserved…?

…Perhaps…

But the King's Consort was very fetching to look at, with his unblemished skin and curly hair. Even more interesting was the way he danced like a master around his caretakers. It tickled Nori watching how the hobbit baffled the bookish Ori – who had boasted in his readings of anything hobbit-ish. Even more hilarious was how Dori, for all his pompous pride could not even make the small creature obey not matter how he begged and threatened.

Both his brothers were intelligent – yet neither one of them realized why their charge was so uncooperative.

"Must we do this again so soon?"

"Did I fail in bringing you pleasure last night?"

Fools. Every single one of them. Nori could see from his perch at the window the way the hobbit kept his head turned away from the king's nuzzling kisses to his neck, the way he kept his small hands on the king's arms, neither pulling in nor pulling away. It was so plain to him even though he watched from a distance, never coming close enough to whisper a word.

"No," the hobbit demurred. "It was good…at least the second time."

"Then did I hurt you? Dori said that you refused a salve."

"It wasn't Dori's place to ask in the first place!" Nori liked the sound of self-righteous insult in the hobbit's voice. He had such an interesting way in pronouncing his words, short and clipped yet somehow enjoyable to listen to.

"Was it my place, then? Even Ori said you were unhappy."

Nori leaned in close to the window, practically pressing his nose into the glass.

"You have surrounded me with spies, your Majesty," huffed the King's Consort, not protesting as he was maneuvered backwards into the bed, robe stripped and discarded on the floor forgotten, pale knees bent and exposed as the king pulled his sleeping gown up. "You disappear without a word for the whole day and – ah!" The gown was pulled up and off, leaving the hobbit completely nude before his liege. "And have your men reporting to you my every move, yet I am left completely blind."

"How unfair of me."

Nori kept his eyes on those thin fingers, now moving down and with some hesitancy reaching into the king's un-tucked shirt. He wondered what they must feel like on Thorin's torso, how they gently ran through the hair that spread across his chest and down into his loins? How did those soft legs feel pressing into the sides of the king's hips?

Thorin rutted on his hobbit, exposing his hammer and thrusting onto Bilbo with care not to threaten penetration. His consort gasped and moaned beneath the king, hands gripping Thorin's bared back, fingers digging into flesh. The hairs against the hobbit's temples were dark with sweat, and his bare toes curled into the sheets.

Nori was aroused. But that was okay. The king had told him to watch his consort, so Nori would watch this. If he took pleasure then it was Thorin's fault for ever thinking that Nori would be satisfied by looking away to maintain their foolish sense of privacy. Bilbo Baggins was beautiful, from the top of his curly head to the hairs on his toes. Thorin had right over the hobbit's body, but had no rights to blind Nori's eyes…

…As long as he did not know Nori watched them play in their sheets…

Besides, for all Thorin's knowledge of tactics and court manipulations, he was as much as a fool as Nori's brothers.

There was no doubt in Nori's mind that Bilbo Baggins was at a complete disadvantage. Trapped and bound to Erebor and its king, a pawn to their political plans of conquest. He was ignorant but not naive, careful in what he allowed to be infringed on his person. King Thrain had been right in his observation of Bilbo Baggins' disobedience. There was sharp intelligence that would not be chained by a mere marriage contract. The hobbit should not be underestimated, despite his small body, pretty voice, and timid demeanor.

Despite the allure of his body, and the pleasure he allowed to be taken from it.

Nori grinned as watched his king lose himself over Bilbo Baggins.

Erebor had suddenly become far more interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me over the dwarves' perspectives. Blame that on the callousness of ignorance. I am attempting to paint a picture of Bilbo through the biased eyes of the dwarves that see him.


	6. In the Mountain Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like your opinions, dear readers. If you choose to comment/review, at the end please write down "A" or "B". "A" indicates that you consider what Bilbo is going through is DUBIOUS CONSENT. "B" indicates that you consider what Bilbo is going through is NONCONSENSUAL/RAPE. You do not need to explain yourselves, just A or B. Based on the majority consensus I will apply the proper warnings.
> 
> Also, on my fanfiction.net profile, there is a poll: Do you believe love can come out of an arranged marriage? I’m curious to see what people think.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: None. A slightly melancholic hobbit.

_“There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.”  
― _ [ _J.R.R. Tolkien_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/656983.J_R_R_Tolkien) _,_ [ _The Hobbit_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1540236)

* * *

Bilbo woke up the same way he had done the morning before; Alone.  He was swafed in sheets and quilts up to his nose, feeling both suffocated and warmed by the feel of cotton and silk.  Brutish the dwarves seemed, crude in their artistry, but Bilbo was finding that they were quite genius in not only metals but cloth.  Not as delicate as hobbits, must masterful non-the-less.  
  
He stayed in place, letting his mind run past mountains and rivers to vast hillsides of green, where flowers bloomed and even in his home of Bag End he could hear the bustle of life and activity outside, whether it came from the nattering of relatives, the squeals of playing young ones, or the chatters of the birds that took roost on his fence.  A smile tugged at his lips, thinking of his kitchen and pantry of cheeses and vegetables, breads and wines.  He thought of his armchair, Old Toby at his lips and an old map on his lap with the echo of his mother's voice saying, _'This is Rivendell, Bilbo love.  And King Elrond is the most majestic of kings.'_  
  
Kings.  
  
Bilbo found it hard to think of kings without thinking of King Thorin, and thinking of King Thorin made Bilbo think of how skillful King Thorin was with his hands.  There were bruises on his hips from their first night together.  He hadn't thought the dwarf had held him so tightly, but apparently it was enough to mark him.  When they had disrobed last night, Bilbo was sure that the king would have noted his handiwork, but the dwarf had been completely occupied by his lust, mouth sucking at Bilbo's neck, hands milking maddening pleasure out of the both of them.  
  
King Thorin was very, _very_ skilled with his hands.  
  
"That is quite enough now, Bilbo Baggins!" Bilbo shot upright in and scrambled out of the mammoth-like bed, vocally chastising himself for the impropriety of his minds dalliance.  King Thorin and he might be married, but dwelling on what they shared during the nights so early in the morning was not what a proper hobbit would do.  He had already spent all of yesterday sequestered to the interior of the room as if he hiding from facing the dwarves.  There was still some soreness, but it was time he spread his legs a bit to help dispel the cloud that seemed to hover over his head.  
  
It was about time he get familiar with his surroundings, to understand these confounded dwarves.  Bilbo was never known to be an idle hobbit.

After a good morning soak in the washroom - quite an ingenious way of heated water that came from pipes coming from the mountain's stone - Bilbo dressed into his clothes, ignoring the wardrobe of hobbit-sized blue and black tunics and coat and blind to the hair clasps and ringlets sitting in obvious display on the dresser.  He went to the balcony door, taking a moment to admire the stained glass design of blue, green, yellow and red.  The doorknob was made of shining gold, cold to touch when he twisted it open.  
  
He tsked, chastising the king mentally for allowing the door to remain unlocked.

Then Bilbo whistled.   
  
Miles and miles of landscape, green and lush rivers and mountains of the Iron Hills that were days away but seemed so close; dark forests of Mirkwooda nd the city of Dale lay before Bilbo.  Their colors, bright under the warm rays of the morning sun had Bilbo stumbling forward to the balcony rail, gripping it as he strained his eyes.  Impossibly, he imagined the Shire lay on that farthest horizon, untouchable, but at least at his sight.  
  
Heartbreakingly beautiful.  Tears welling in his eyes, Bilbo wished his mother stood beside him basking with him in delight while his father sat behind them smoking his pipeweed and reading from one of his journals.  
  
"Master Bilbo!  What are you doing?!"  
  
The moment was abruptly broken.  Swiftly Bilbo wiped the evidence of his emotion from his eyes and looked over his shoulder at a pale-stricken looking Dori.  His dwarf keeper was impeccably groomed as always, carrying in his hands a tray of fruit and cheeses.    
  
Ah.  Breakfast.  Bilbo _was_ hungry.  
  
Bilbo wished to grimace at the interruption but allowed a slight smile to grace the dwarf.  Though insufferable, Dori did _try_ to care for Bilbo.  "Good morning, Mister Dori.  Perhaps we should take breakfast out here?  The air is quite clear and the scene magical."    
  
There was a table with two chairs to the side, and once the dwarf regained his bearings from whatever cluttering nonsense in his head, he placed the tray down and pulled a chair out for Bilbo to be seated first.  
  
Once settled, the hobbit could not help but notice a smudged stain on the clear window beside the balcony door. It was as if someone had pressed their cheek against the glass. With a slight huff, he pulled out a kerchief and wiped it clean, wondering if he should have a few words about how he expected the rooms should be kept.  To leave such an obvious mark for all too see...and facing the bed of all things!  
  
"You seem to have more color to your cheeks," Dori commented, pouring some tea into two mugs.  
  
"You seem too occupied by the pallor of my skin, Mister Dori," Bilbo cut two wedges of cheese and served Dori and then himself.   
  
The dwarf blinked slowly, "Must we do this again?"  
  
"I'm not sure what you mean."  
  
"We are not your enemies, Master Bilbo,” Dori implored gently.  “This is your home, and we are sworn to protect you.  Erebor is beautiful and my people are honorable and brave.  You can find happiness if you only give it a chance."  
  
Bilbo did not look at the dwarf, plopping some red grapes in his mouth and enjoying the sweetness of them.  "I wish to take a walk, Mister Dori," he stated, cutting an appple slice and taking a bite.  The fruit were all so delicious.  He swallowed, "I would like to know where the pipes in the washroom go.  The water can go from ice cold to scalding in mere seconds.  I am curious about how you dwarves managed such a thing."  
  
This earned him a brilliant smile.  "You mean to leave the royal courters?"  
  
Bilbo shrugged and looked back to the beautiful land before him.  "I have been distraught of late, and the only way to dispel this melancholy is to seek something new and adventurous."  
  
"I had come to understand that hobbits frown upon adventures."  
  
Using a provided napkin to wipe his mouth, Bilbo said, "You fail to understand the situation, Mister Dori.  Though not of my choosing I currently _am_ in an adventure.”  


* * *

  
"Must they _always_ bow like that?"  
  
Hours later, deep below into the belly of the mountain, Bilbo was lamenting his decision to leave the comfort of his room.  It seemed Dori had been preparing for the grandest of tours for his charge.  He carried with him parchments of scribbled notes, numbered in order of the way he wished to present landmark after landmark, detailing histories he told with grave flourish and pride.  It was all very interesting, however a bit much for such an initial introduction.  Bilbo had the urge to take his own notes for there was no way he would be able to remember what each stone meant, what family each symbol represented, and who son of whose-who was responsible for what.

And Bilbo had thought hobbit lineage was complex!  
  
What threw Bilbo off even more was that every single dwarf they passed by either stopped what they were doing to bow low at their waist, or deemed it important enough to come up and address Bilbo personally.  
  
"Ah, so this is the hobbit!"  
"King Thorin's consort, you look well."  
"Master Hobbit, pleasure meeting your acquaintance."  
  
It was becoming quite tiresome.  Propriety dictated the Bilbo had to smile and greet with as much charm, but after hours of such presentation his facial muscles were becoming fatigued and sore.  This was worse than hosting a dinner party with the Sacksville-Bagginses.  
  
"You _are_ the King's Consort," Dori explained.  "Contrary to what you may believe, you are held with respect."  
  
Bilbo snorted, "Whatever for?  A glorified trophy piece?"  
  
"For being precious to our lord."  
  
They were descending a stairway that would lead to the uppermost chambers of the mines.  Dori held a lantern despite the torches brightly burning on the walls.  Bilbo was a step behind the dwarf, frowning.  "Not precious to King Thrain," he said carefully, recalling that brief but frightening meeting.  He was thankful that they had not crossed paths with that particular dwarf.  "I must admit that I am confused by how a single kingdom can be ruled by two monarchs."  
  
"We are unique in that," Dori said.  
  
Bilbo did not ask, swallowing a twist of unease at the memory of the snarling King Thrain.  So different from his son...or was King Thorin hiding a violent temperament from him in a way to seduce Bilbo into a false sense of security?  He had seen firsthand how dwarves treated each other, valuing strength over other personal qualities.  King Thorin was held in adulation, awe and worship in every voice that echoed his name...how mighty was his spouse?  
  
Bilbo's pondering was interrupted when they came upon the end of the stairs, blocked by a door with rune-like engravings etched into the stone.  Dori whispered a word and they began to glow white, making Bilbo gasp into wonder, wishing again for a parchment so that he may write the symbols down and ask about them later...  
  
 _Ah, Bilbo Baggins you silly creature,_ Bilbo laughed at himself.  _So easily you wish to forget that accursed marriage contract!_  
  
He was not, under any circumstances, allowed to learn the dwarf language of Khuzdul.    
  
Held in respect indeed.  
  
The air was hot and moist, so much that immediately he felt drenched.  He pulled out his kerchief and wiped at his face and neck, following Dori who seemed unbothered by the change in temperature.  Bilbo looked around curiously as now he could see large pipes made of gray and black iron above them.  The two followed the pipes deeper into the cavern-like corridor, Bilbo feeling his neck creaking in discomfort as he strained it with how far he looked above him.  
  
He could hear voices now as they turned a corner, loud and echoing, and in an instant Bilbo stopped.  Dori had led him to a large cavern within the mountain.  They were on a balcony of sorts, the edge guarded by a rail.  Looking over the edge he could see far down, dwarves working on pulleys, banging into the mountain’s interior walls for an infinite amount of levels.  Above, so high that Bilbo could not pinpoint where the top stopped were more dwarves, working on piping that dripped streams of water.  
  
All around there were lights, torches flickering, stones glimmering, dwarves working, their voices seeming a part of the Erebor itself, alive and beating with its own heart.  
  
"Magnificent!" he whispered, a smile pulling at his lips, looking left to right, up and down.  He leaned over the rail so he was practically folded over at the waist, barely holding to the floor with his toes.    
  
"Mister Bilbo, please be careful!"  Dori was at his side, his hands hovering in concern but unwilling to manhandle him just yet.   
  
Bilbo righted himself, giving his keeper a cheeky grin and unperturbed by the other's worry.  "So the water," he said, "it comes from the mountain?"  
  
The dwarf nodded, his voice sounding a bit winded when he answered, "There are many wells within the mountain.  Using pumps," at this he pointed a thick finger down to one corner.   Bilbo followed it to find what was similar to a mechanical windmill but with two levers that pumped up and down.  "It creates suction so water is taken up through the pipes to that level," at this he pointed to what looked like a smithy with dwarves working a furnace and beating red hot iron.  "There are boiler-rooms where those pipes are kept hot by our beating fires.  Two of each kind, hot and naturally cold, lead to the different levels, maintained by our pipe-workers and mechanics.  These workers have to constantly check the integrity of the pipes, making sure there are no leakages or rust on the metal.  Some four hundred years ago there was a massive breach and two whole caves were completely submerged.  The loss of life was horrifying, so you can imagine how important it is that these pipes are consistently maintained."  
  
Bilbo shuddered at the thought of being trapped in his own home with no escape as everything was submerged in rising water.  
  
Dori let out a sad sigh and stepped away. "I believe that is enough of such tales.  Let us return to the apartments above.  Though you hobbits like your underground hills, it seems odd for a creature such as yourself to be so deep in the mountain."  
  
Bilbo nodded in silent agreement, but could not help but lean over to take one last look at the mines below.  
  
"Look out!"  
  
It was as if he had run into a wall of rock, or a rock wall ran into him, or suddenly a wall and him collided...whichever it was, one minute Bilbo was looking over the rail, and the next he was on his side on the ground.   His shoulder felt wretched and burned with pain and a suffocating hard weight was pinning him down as there was a horrific splintering crash followed by startled cries echoing from above and below.  
  
Then the weight was gone, and he was being pulled into sitting by a pair of hands on his arms.  
  
"Are you alright?"  Said a voice.  
  
"BILBO!"  Cried Dori, his voice fuzzy but the terrified tone distinct.  
  
Hands were on his face, and Bilbo's vision...which had been blurry (why was everything so blurry?) was filled by the face of a dark-haired dwarf.  
  
"Thorin?"  When had King Thorin come down here?  When had King Thorin grown such a mustache?  Why were King Thorin’s eyes not very blue looking?  
  
Where had King Thorin gotten that ridiculous hat??  
  
"Mahal, he's struck his head."  Dori again, but now beside the peculiar looking Thorin.  "Master Bilbo, how many fingers am I holding up?"  
  
Something was waved at him, and Bilbo squinted at it.  His head was suddenly aching, and he felt like he had bitten his tongue.  Hands were still on him, touching him here and there and even running through his hair.  Bilbo tried to pull away from them, these dwarves were taking too many liberties with him!  
  
"Didn't mean to knock him down so hard,"  hat-wearing-Thorin stammered.  "Saw the ropes to the platform snap and he was just hangin' there..."   
  
"Would've killed him," Dori moaned.  "Thorin would have had my head!"  
  
Bilbo felt the hands switch to below his knees and around his back, and became even more disoriented when he felt himself suddenly suspended.  He felt a wave of nausea and gripped the shirtfront of Thorin's brown tunic, pressing his face into the dwarf's collarbone.    
  
Thorin smelled of sweat and stone, very unking-like...and since when did he wear brown?  
  
Everything was so confusing, as if he should be alarmed about something, but did not know what.  He shut his eyes and whispered, "Please, take me home."  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"Come, Bofur.  Quick, he's concussed.  We have to get him to his rooms to get looked at."  
  
There were moving, and Bilbo was reminded of that one time he had gone with his cousin Drogo on a fishing trip and how the boat had swayed.  He had chosen after that he was not meant for boats or fishing or any type of body of water, but it had been an enjoyable time with his cousin.  Drogo always was one of the most sensible of his relatives.  
  
He never got the chance to say goodbye...  
  
"Thorin," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as glowing lights seemed to filter through his lids and they hurt terribly.  He buried his face deeper, trying to use the dwarf king's chest to block out the pain in his head - Even if he was the cause of the pain in his heart.    
  
"Please," Bilbo begged, clinging to the king, "please let me go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Poor Bilbo. I don't give him any breaks!  
> \- I have no clue if my description of the way the pipes kept the water warm makes sense....or anywhere near accurate.   
> \- What I imagine stained glass windows look like crafted by the dwarves of Erebor: http://www.pbase.com/image/40670918


	7. His Majesty's Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, all of you lovely readers are amazing. The input I received for my dilemma was both humbling and eye-opening. In the end I have now added "Non-con and Rape" to the story warnings. Thank you so much for your help!
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Naught thoughts, Thrain...cause the way I've characterized him creeps the hell out of me...

" _There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, __The Hobbit_  


* * *

The map that lay out before Thorin was both familiar and foreign to him. As a child he had memorized every single mountain, batches of woods and forests, thin rivers, lakes and vast oceans. He need only shut his eyes to recall the texture of his first map of Middle Earth beneath his baby finger, the smell of old parchment in his learning nostrils and the beauty of the world that surrounded Erebor.

It was his grandfather Thror, with a large arm around his child shoulders, who whispered the secrets of the world to him: he Iron Hills were east, the Grey Mountains north, Mordor far south past the Sea of Rhun, and the uninhabited White Mountains just east of those accursed lands. The Blue Mountains were the farthest west his kin had settled, and the Misty Mountains cut the kingdom of dwarves in the center.

Let the tall short-lived men claim the lands of Rohan and Gondor, with their flat lands and smelly animals.

Let Rivendell, Lorien and Mirkwood belong to the elves, hiding in the shades of their frail homes of wood and leaves.

Let the orcs, trolls and goblins stay imprisoned in Mordor, the land of filth and evil.

Once, the boundaries were solid and sound, borders upheld and every creature stayed to their lands. Once, Thorin could easily point out where the divides met, who declared which side, who ruled which throne.

_Once_...

"This is madness," Thorin said, staring at the familiar map that now was cluttered by little figurine armies. They were unpainted, black scorched from simple welding, beaten crude but meant to be durable. They blanketed the map, enveloping the lands north, south, east and west; a war of four fronts spiraling towards the center of the map. He shook his head, wishing to knock the figures in a way to cleanse the stain they made. "Too many lives have been lost already," he murmured lowly, as if the whole of Middle Earth were listening to his words. "Our people are not short on homes. There are plenty peaks we have not explored. This is a mad attempt to grasp at something long lost to us."

"You're a coward, Thorin."

His hands immediately clenched, knuckles white where they rested on the chair arms rests at his sides, hidden by the high war table carved of oak and decorated with gold. "You say this to my face, father?" his voice trembled in ill-concealed emotion.

"Before your council and your heirs, aye." King Thrain sat opposite to him, his eye dark and glittering like molten lava in the dim lights of the council room. Beside him sat his council, dwarves whom had served the line of Durin with loyalty and honor. Warriors who had witnessed and been a part of the rising era of wealth and prosperity for the dwarves, yet still remembered the sting of loss so long ago.

Balin sat to Thorin's left, his breaths even and as careful as his old mind. To his right was young Fili, followed by the even young Kili, both nephews were deathly white and wide-eyed. Not a single breath came from them, too afraid to fall in between the two ruler's anger.

Swallowing the bellow that wished to rise from the depth of his soul, Thorin tried to temper his words. "This folly will not end with you, but shall devastate generations of our people. We are fine as we are, stable and strong in our domains."

" _'Fine'_ you say?" spat Thrain, his fist slamming onto the table, creating a mini-quake that knocked some of the iron soldiers from their bases to topple over. Felled before battle. " _'Fine'_ is not a word you should say with pride, King Thorin. _'Fine'_ does not describe all that we have lost and what we risk losing. _'Fine'_ is the excuse of a coward's last words before a knife sinks into his retreating back."

The silence was deadly in the room. The dark heavy and suffocating the hearts of ever dwarf witnessing this council. Even old Oin, with his hearing aid at his ear, was looking at his lord in horror.

The wood of the arms of the chair Thorin sat in creaked in protest beneath his clenching fists as he leaned forward. "Are you threatening me, father? Have you lost all sense that you do not see nor hear your own son begging you to stop this madness before it consumes us all?"

Thrain sneered, "You are not my only son."

"Frerin is dead!" Shouted Thorin, knocking his chair back with a crash as he surged to his feet. "Fallen beside King Thror! Have we not learned from that wretched past? How many more must die before you are appeased, father? Tell me!" He soften his tone, and attempted to smooth the tremor in his voice, "What must I do to deter you, father?"

"How _is_ your hobbit?" Thrain asked instead, making Thorin start and the dwarves around them shift in discomfort. "I would have thought that the creature would satisfy you in bed so that you could come before me with the clear vision of a king ready to go to battle for his kingdom."

He could not look at the wrathful humor in his father's eye, turning away to stare at a fallen soldier near the edge of the table, gripping before it fell over the edge. "This was all by your design," he stated. "If the outcome is not to your liking than you have no one to blame but yourself."

Unable to take any more of the travesty playing out before him, he turned away and barked, "Fili, Kili! Come. Let your grandfather plot the demise of our people to his heart's content. We may bear the burden of his mistake, but we need not watch like the marionettes he wishes us to be."

He did not meet any of his father's council's eyes as he strode out of the council room. They all followed their lord by choice, so let them try to convince their king as his father had seemed to turn against Thorin more and more with each passing day. It was only once the door was shut behind him with a solid lock did Thorin realize that he was shaking, his chest burning with anger and grief.

_How have we come to this?_

He barely heard Balin instructing his nephews to report to the training area to practice their sword and arrow. Dwalin would be there, the old dwarf promised, he'll beat all doubts and anxieties out of them.

Once they were alone Balin took Thorin by the shoulder.

"I will not survive this," Thorin voiced his despair. "By the time this is over those boys will be left alone with the mess my grandfather started and which my father wishes to follow. I cannot see any other future."

"Dain will follow you. He is of sound mind and council."

"Hence why Dis fled to the Iron Hills; she could not bear watching our father succumbing to this madness." He forced a deep shuddering breath. "I'm failing, Balin. Father sways the majority. I cannot stop him. I have lost."

Balin shook him firmly. "You need rest, Thorin. It shows that you have not been sleeping in your stance and voice. How can you expect yourself to be able to lead us through this if you are not taking care of yourself first?" The old dwarf patted him and stepped back. "Go, leave the rest of the day for yourself. Let me take charge of any affairs that might come up. Even a ruler needs some time to collect himself after such a horrid turning. Go Thorin."

The advice was sound, and Thorin felt too drained to defend hi show of weakness. With a heavy nod, he began to make his way to the royal quarters. If there was one thing he wished to do with his time, it would be to continue his exploration of Bilbo Baggins.

He had no way of anticipating his lust for the hobbit. Other than his fairness, there was little else to explain this wantonness. The creature had no idea what to do in bed, a complete innocent and painfully awkward and timid when it came to their nightly play. Thorin had always preferred more experienced bedfellows yet here he was, anticipating his next round with his consort.

Perhaps they might attempt penetration again? It would do well to keep his hobbit stretched to prevent future discomfort. If not, some mouth play. Thorin really, _really_ wanted to start training Bilbo to use his mouth.

He was just approaching the royal wing of the palace when he stopped, all deviant thoughts of pleasure and flesh gone. "Nori," he called to the shadows of a statue of Durin I.

As the lanky dwarf melted from his hiding place, Thorin recalled Dori's advice about his younger brother when Thorin approached him about his reservations concerning Nori. " _My brother is of devious mind and soul. He speaks only in gold, and sees others as means to acquire more wealth. He answers to no one, however, though it may seem hard to believe, my brother is loyal to us. Ori and I, that is. He shall never do anything to jeopardize our positions, and as our place is beside you, my lord, so will he fall beside you if you call him._ "

Nori's beard and hair was a light shade of brown, using beads instead of metals to adorn his locks. He wore loose leather armor rather than chainmail and guards, and his shoes were soft soled. All these precautions to prevent sound of movement as he skulked around the palace. Wary and suspicious, and perfect for the task Thorin had assigned him.

"Sire," Nori nodded his head, not bowing or lowering his eyes.

His presence made worry twist at Thorin's gut, the echo of his father's earlier threat seeming more real than idle. "Have you something to report?"

His spy nodded, saying in a voice just above a whisper in case there were listening ears. "Your hobbit had a little accident. Nearly struck by a falling platform while visiting the mines."

Something completely different jolted inside the king. "Was he hurt?"

"Banged head. Wrenched shoulder. Was injured when a miner knocked him out of harm's way." Nori chuckled. "The irony of it."

"What caused the accident?"

The other shrugged, "No foul play, just simple lazy maintenance."

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"The miners who were to use that platform had only placed their equipment on it before it failed." Thorin took a breath he had not realized he had been holding, but then Nori's thin lips pulled into a disquieting grin. "He called for you, Sire," he said, causing Thorin's whole body to stiffen. "More than once he called your name."

"Not another word," he snarled. "I have no need for your services today. Make yourself scarce until morning."

He watched the other dwarf walk away from him with a baleful eye. Nori was a ghost, sensed from the corners of eyes but never truly seen. An unsettling skill for a dwarf, but one Thorin was reluctantly thankful for. He would need Nori's eyes and ears in the coming months, even if he found him disturbing.

There were three dwarves standing outside his room when Thorin finally made it there. Dori stood at the center, blocking the door and wringing his hands – a habit of his when flustered and angry over something. To his right stood Gloin son of Groin, younger brother of Oin, his red beard bristling and face just a shade lighter. The third, standing awkwardly to the left of Dori was obviously the miner Nori had mentioned, his clothes were homely spun and his beard still moist from his toils at work.

"My lord," Dori was the first to notice him. "Forgive me…"

Thorin interrupted the stream of apologies before they started, "All is well, my friend. I have been informed of what happened in the mines." He then turned to the miner, who hastily stood in attention and then remembered to take off his hat, nearly dropping it in haste. He looked familiar, something in the youthful light in his eyes, and the laugh marks around his mouth.

_Ah_.

"You are Bofur, cousin to Bifur, are you not?"

The miner nodded, twisting his hand in stained hands. "Yes, my lord. I am he."

Thorin allowed a gentle smile at such nervous display. "I recall you and your cousin gifted my nephews Fili and Kili with some hand carved toys of line of Durin when they were mere babes. They were quite taken with them, and my family has always thought kindly of such a personal gift from one of our subjects."

The praise worked its magic; Bofur looked him straight on with a brilliant smile. "It seemed such a fitting gift for our future rulers."

"And now my family is in your debt. I hear that my consort would not have survived had you not knocked him to safety." Thorin reached forward and took hold of one of the miner's forearms, grasping it firmly as he tugged so that their arms were locked between them. "What would Bofur wish in repayment? Gold? Apartments? A different occupation? If it is in my power I shall grant it."

Thorin patiently waited as his words registered, and grinned when Bofur exclaimed happily, "Just a bit of gold so that I may open a toy shop! My cousin Bifur, brother Bombur and I have already saved up most of the down payment, so, if you don't mind, just a bit more and then we shall be open for business."

"It shall be done. Show your finances to my councilor Balin, and he shall finalize everything."

"Thank you, my lord!" Bofur looked near tears in elation, his hand squeezing Thorin's in absolute gratitude. "The first toy we make in our shop will be a gift worthy of you and your hobbit consort!"

Thorin blinked curiosly, "Would you know what to gift a hobbit?"

At this, a bit of color rose to the miner's cheeks and his dark eyes darted towards the closed door. "He seemed a bit homesick. And from the short time I was in your rooms, I didn't see anything Hobbity-looking in there. Perhaps, if you will allow me, I can make something that will make him feel more at home."

A weight suddenly settled in the pit of Thorin's stomach. Dark and possessive, displeased by the look in the other dwarf's eyes as he gazed towards the room that housed his consort.

But he shook it immediately away, his mind acknowledging the truth in Bofur's observation.

"You may do as you will with your time. Though, I cannot promise the reception to your gift, however kind the intention." He allowed the vague warning, but was unsure if it was understood.

Bofur the ex-miner turned toymaker was dismissed, escorted by Dori towards the entrance of the royal wing, allowing Thorin to finally bring his attention to Gloin, who was still standing in his original place.

"How severe are his hurts?" Thorin asked.

"An impertinent, foul tempered little monster you've got yourself in there, Thorin," Gloin snarled, his red whiskers trembling with rage, left eye twitching. "Other than allowing a cold compress to his head, he would not let me touch him! Not even to inspect that shoulder of his! The foolish thing could have fractured it! Acted like I was some sort of perverse spell-caster, and then having the nerve to order all of us out of the room!"

Yes, that temper that Thorin had not seen since the first night he had seen Bilbo Baggins.

"He is magnificently concussed," Gloin continued, calmed after the initial triad of hurt pride. "He shouldn't sleep for the next couple of hours, and should limit any strenuous activity for the next two to three days, especially if his headache continues or worsens. And the shoulder. His shoulder has to be looked at."

"I shall tend to him," Thorin promised. "And I apologize for his behavior. It seems he is not settling as I had hoped."

"Or having his brain rattled just lowered his inhibitions so that he is unable to hide behind pretty masks." Gloin gave Thorin a hard look before saying, "I know you had very little say in this, but really! What can we gain by having you bound to such a tiny creature?"

Thorin glared, "It isn't your place to ask this."

Gloin puffed his chest in insult, "Well, someone's got to ask! It just feels foul to me!"

It _was_ foul. Thorin knew it. Most of the council knew it. Bilbo Baggins' eyes screamed it whenever he looked at him.

_How have we come to this?_

If only the wizard were here. Things were rapidly falling apart, and though suspicious in nature the wizard's input would be welcomed at this time.

"Please," Thorin raised his hand to stall the other's angry words. "I myself am unwell and wish to withdraw for the night. Speak to your brother Oin. He was at council today and can answer whatever questions you have."

Gloin looked about to argue this as well but then stopped, perhaps seeing the weariness in his lord's continence. He gave a shallow bow to Thorin, and stomped his way loudly out, muttering under his breath in continued ire.

Finally alone to the silence of the corridor, and a simple door barring him from his intended, Thorin took a breath and reached for the doorknob.

The door opened without a creak. The fire was burning bright, the rooms unnaturally warm as it has been since the hobbit moved into the chambers. All the torches and candles were lit, even though there was still some light from the red sunset streaming through the windows. Everything was neat and in order as he had left it that morning.

Bilbo Baggins was sitting up on the bed, dark blue eyes wide on a pale, withdrawn face. They were like dark bruises. Like Thorin had placed them there. They were _his_ marks; the pull of the smooth skin, the alarmed knot on those expressive brows, and the sad pull to those thin lips. All of them were _his_ making. All of them were _his_ pride.

From Thror to Thrain to Thorin. Madness, it seemed, ran deep in the kings of Erebor.

Thorin, mad King Under the Mountain, let the door fall shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes:  
> I wrote this chapter in Thorin's perspective because a lot of your readers are ready to commit dwarf genocide! The emotional responses both amuse me and horrify me. For one, they are valid humane responses to the blatant abuse Bilbo is going through. However, the responses also make me wonder if I have done a poor job of hinting at the two sides of the coin….and then I wonder if the readers at this point detest Thorin so that there isn't a shred of empathy towards the hard decisions and sacrifices he has had to make?
> 
> This isn't meant to bastardize his character – not at all. But it isn't meant to justify the wrongs he has committed, and continues to commit.
> 
> So, I will ask you wonderful readers; please don't kill him off as a character. This is a journey of character development and progressions. This is a gradual plot that develops bit by bit with every chapter. I ask for your patience, for Thorin's sake…
> 
> …unless you feel he truly is irredeemable?
> 
> Chapter 8 is already in the works…with plenty of Thorin/Bilbo interaction!


	8. Descending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should have been completed days ago. However, 1) this scene was a lot more trickier to navigate because Thorin and Bilbo actually have a CONVERSATION and 2) my father traumatized me in the weekend when he walked into the coffee shop I like to write in and declared after 5 seconds that I was writing sex. Yeah.
> 
> On a less disturbing note, once again I find myself humbled by the flurry of positive responses for this story, your continued support make me so happy. Even on tumblr contradictionflavoredburrito has rec'd Far From Home (the gifs are hilarious)! You're beautiful, every single one of you!
> 
> Chapter Warning: Semi-naughty business.

Bilbo Baggins was sitting up on the bed, back stiff and eyes alert with alarm at Thorin's entrance. There was a small chest open in front of him, with parchments scattered around on the surface of the quilts. He held one up in his hands; Thorin noted the whiteness of those thin fingers, the tenseness in those shoulders as if Bilbo were about to spring away in fright.

Thorin pressed his back against the door. "You were not expecting me," he said, keeping his voice soft as to not frighten the creature even more.

Bilbo frowned, licking his lips before saying, "You...you are a bit early, yes."

Pushing away from his purchase, the king walked slowly at the edge of the room towards the fireplace. He did not sit on cushions, but faced the bed so the heat of the flames beat at his back.

"This day seems to have taken its toll on the both of us."

The hobbit carefully lowered the parchment to his lap, a little spark lighting in the shadows of his face. "I am fine," he said in a clipped tone.

"You banished Gloin from the room before he could finish his assessment of your injuries."

The spark exploded magnificently, and the hobbit jumped from the bed in a flurry of emotion as he began to pace at his side of the bed. "He tried to disrobe me when I found no foundation to do so. Dori was hovering like a worried mother watching her child get his scrapped knees cleaned. I am no child, nor am I a woman who would easily swoon at the slightest danger."

Thorin found himself amused by this show of temper, but he could not dispel the memory of Bofur, eyes longing on Bilbo's door. "What of the miner who saved you?" he asked.

Color suddenly rose to Bilbo's cheeks. "I..." he stopped and cleared his throat. "For a bit there...I thought he was you," he admitted, darting a shy look at him as he stopped fevered pace. "He looks nothing like you, yet my addled mind put you in his place. It was quite embarrassing."

Thorin was not comforted by this, how could Bilbo's mind, addled or not, find any similarities between a king and a miner? Instead he recalled Nori's early jibe. "And then you called for me."

"Again with your spies!" Bilbo gasped in dismay. He came to the corner of the bed, a small approach. "Must they report my every move to you? I have not done anything to warrant this...suspicion. You need only ask and I will be truthful with you."

"This isn't about suspicion." Thorin waved his hand in immediate denial. Then, with a bit of nervousness he added, "You have done nothing but...please me since you've arrived."

"Then what is this about?"

There was something about the way Bilbo tilted his head, the curls of his hair brushing against the pale of his neck that made Thorin move forward, slowly and carefully. "You've met my father. You've felt his swift temper. Did I not swear to you to protect you from him, and that my companions would come if ever you two cross paths again?"

Bilbo stiffened. "Would he really try to harm me? Your own father? I cannot wrap my mind around it."

As Thorin continued coming closer, he was happy to see that his hobbit was neither withdrawing nor stiffening, allowing his approach with a heavy air of seriousness. He was beautiful, and Thorin wished to touch him.

They now stood close enough that Bilbo had to tilt his head up.

"How is your head?" Thorin asked.

"Hurts a bit; but nothing too bad."

"And your shoulder? I promised Gloin I would look at it for him, just to make sure there are no breaks or dislocation."

Bilbo dropped his gaze and nodded. "Fine. Let me clean this mess up." He went back to his parchments, collecting them with a delicate hand and placing them lovingly in his small chest. Thorin looked away granting Bilbo this privacy, instead looking about the room at his mounted weapons on the walls. Bofur claimed that there was nothing hobbity-like in the room. What exactly would be hobbity-like, and how would it look when hung beside his ax and sword?

Did hobbits even have weapons of their own? How small their swords must be!

Once the chest was tucked away in the wardrobe, Bilbo returned to the bed, seating himself comfortably and pulling at his shirt strings. "It felt like being stuck by a wall of rock," he grumbled, allowing a wince as he pulled the shirt over his head. Thorin came to his side and placed his hand on the shoulder Bilbo pointed to, palpating flesh.

"It aches a bit," Bilbo admitted. "It was just a hard landing." Thorin took the limb and bent it at the elbow, then abducted his arm and testing the range and resistance. "I once met a human who said that dwarves were born from rock and that is why your bodies are so hard and sturdy."

"Silly human notion," Thorin murmured, satisfied by his inspection that there was no permanent injury, and finding his eyes drifting the expanse of skin before him, marred only by marks made from Thorin's lovemaking. They were all over, peppering Bilbo's skin, stark red against white. "We came from Mahal. The humans like to create such fanciful stories."

His hobbit chuckled nervously, sensing Thorin's change in interest. "Ah, yes, though after being crushed by one of you I could almost believe it. That dwarf is not as big as you, but just as solid. I feel embarrassed now at my behavior. Didn't thank him for saving me there."

"Hush," Thorin bent down to place his lips to the shoulder he had been examining, running his hands down the arm and relishing the shiver his contact received. He did not want another on Bilbo's mind when they were together like this. His hobbit's thoughts should be filled with him and none other. "Tell me," he said, moving his hands so they caressed the skin of Bilbo's back, fingers tracing the bony processes of his spine. "What was the reason you would not let Gloin treat you? You promised to be truthful."

He both heard and felt Bilbo swallowing. Small hands came up to press against his clothed chest, neither pulling nor pushing. How long would it take for his hobbit to gain the confidence to pull him in? Thorin would gladly follow wherever those small hands guided him.

"It's your fault," Bilbo complained. "You marked me all over. It isn't proper to allow a total stranger to see what you have been about with me."

Thorin's chuckle was slightly muffled by the Bilbo's skin. "We are married, and Gloin is one of the best healers I know, and a trusted fellow. There is no shame in it."

Hands were suddenly on his face, guiding him up so that he was looking straight at Bilbo. He looked calm, but curious. "So if it were you, you'd not mind to be seen with marks on you?"

Thorin felt a shiver down in his loins, his mouth filling with saliva so that now it was he who had to swallow loudly. His voice was rough with need when he replied, "If placed by you then I would wear it with pride."

Bilbo looked taken aback. "You can't be serious!"

Those lips were temping him, so he gently brushed his thumb over them, endeared by the horrified expression on his innocent husband's face. Feeling a surge of impishness, he climbed onto the bed, straddling Bilbo's legs as the hobbit pressed back against the pillows. He brought his hands to his shirt, yanking it roughly over his head, ignoring how belts and buckles tore at his hair. Now he was just as bare chested, as equal ground as could be.

"Here," he touched at his collar bone, right where the skin dipped at his throat. It was a place with little coarse chest hair, the skin smooth and thin. "It shall always be covered, but you need only loosen my top to have access to it again."

Those wonderful eyes were trained to where he pointed; budding rose color on Bilbo's cheeks. Shy, reluctant, curious hunger. Thorin soared at the sight of it.

But with a blink it was gone, and Bilbo pulled away, arms coming up to wrap around his small body as if to block off Thorin and his want. The king in him roared at the denial, but the rational part of him took a breath to consider.

"The first time we met, you asked me whether I saw you as a slave," he said carefully, lowering himself down so that Bilbo had no choice but to look at him. "Our first night together I answered that you were mine."

"I remember," Bilbo replied, the melancholy so obvious that it cut.

Thorin had a thick skin and would not be deterred. "You read the contract?"

Bilbo eyes darted away, his voice biting, "It was written very well."

Ori would burst with pride before deflating at the insult.

"You promised honesty in your words."

"The grammar was impeccable."

His hobbit was determined to be difficult. "Our desires," _you maddening, beautiful creature_ , he added mentally, "are to be given together. In this, and only this you were granted equal grounds with me. You are mine, Bilbo Baggins, make no doubt in that. But here, in this bed, with the two of us alone, I am yours. Whatever you wish, between us, is my duty to uphold."

"And if I wish none of it?" Bilbo asked sharply, his voice hitching slightly, fingers digging into the pale of his arms. Still on guard, still alarmed, but brave in his fear and vulnerability. His hobbit was brave and Thorin had never been more pleased.

The king's lips pulled into a grin, "Then a compromise. We shall agree on something in between. Agreed?"

His consort gave him a disbelieving look, doubting his words.

The insult in that look scathed, but he accepted the burn. "What is your wish? Anything, say it and I shall grant it."

His hobbit was quiet, his eyes flickering to and fro, lashes heavy and pale shading them from Thorin's assessment. He licked the flesh of his upper lip, raised his gaze up then dropped it immediately.

When he spoke, his voice was hesitant but strong in conviction. "I hurt. My head does not feel right and I am nauseous. I feel that if we attempt something...else...I just might become sick."

Thorin nodded. "Gloin advised me that you be careful of your activities for the next couple of days. We shall not risk your health for our pleasure."

Bilbo looked surprised at the acknowledgement. His hands loosened from their hold of his arms, his nails having left crescent marks from their pressure. Eyes that were dark like sapphires in ice looked up to him. "When we consummated our marriage, I was not prepared for the pain that followed. I dread the day you wish to repeat such performance. You wish to do it again, I know you do."

"You are correct," Thorin agreed. "I wish to mount you this very moment."

Bilbo's eyes darted down to the obvious bulge pressing against Thorin's trousers. He paled, but did not shrink away. "So what is our compromise? Our desires conflict yet in the end you are my king and I must obey you."

A sticky truth, one that Thorin had not failed to consider. Easy to promise his hobbit that he would never ask him for anything he did not desire. Easy to say that he would not touch him until he invited it. _I have deeply wronged you_ , a Thorin of the past would have admitted _, and I vow to never do so again._  
  
But they were being truthful. Bilbo Baggins had been brought to Erebor to be used. By Thorin, by the design of Thrain, for the future prosperity of the dwarves. False hope was a dangerous gamble and Thorin was unwilling to throw the die. Bilbo's continued pain was inevitable, the least Thorin could do was not give false promises.

Thorin withdrew, slipping off Bilbo to lie propped up on the side against the pillows. It was a less domineering position than the previous one, giving his hobbit room to breathe. However, Thorin could not tolerate not touching what was his when it was so close, so he placed one hand on the soft fat of Bilbo's belly, running the palm over the warm flesh.

"In the beginning there is always pain," he explained, watching his hand, calloused and large on the hobbit's bare torso. "Your muscles are tight and unused to the invasion. To prevent future discomfort I will have to prepare you over a course of time. The muscles must be continually stretched or else you will continue to have difficulty accommodating me."

He nearly missed the look of utter devastation on Bilbo's face, so engrossed by the feel of Bilbo's skin. Nearly, he missed the forming of crystal tears before they were willed away. He placed his hand on the curve of his hobbit's cheek to keep Bilbo from turning away.

"Speak your mind now." When Bilbo tried to pull from him completely he shifted his hold to the curls of blondish hair, gripping them to keep him still. "Say it. Your words. I wish to hear them."

"You speak about compromise when there is none." Anger bled from every single word that Bilbo spat at him. "You say you will allow equality in our intimacy but how can that be if I cannot deny your commands? Don't make me lose any respect I might have for you, oh king. I have little to spare."

"Surely there's more?" Thorin encouraged. What had Bilbo said once? Telling lies by speaking truths.

Despite Thorin's hand in his hair, Bilbo pushed himself upright. For the first time the hobbit looked down at the king, and Thorin found himself not minding this position at all. "The list of my woes would fill libraries. What would airing them accomplish if there is no one to listen. Don't mock me."

When he had been a young dwarf child, he had found himself staring at the elves; their slimness, their poise, and the ethereal aura they all carried. He was entranced by the upward sweep of their ears, the long flowing locks of hair that shone like polished gold. King Thror struck him upon the top of his head, warning him of becoming enthralled by the elves.

He did not understand what his grandfather meant then, but now in his own bed with the bewitching little creature hovering over him, Thorin truly understood what it meant. Bilbo Baggins was no elf, he had neither their beauty nor stature, but when he spoke Thorin was beholden. Thorin wished to possess every bit of him, accepting every twitch, sigh, and gasp. He wished to own, and be owned, to be the cause for every single tear, every giggle, every angry word.

He wanted the hobbit, and he had him. Bilbo Baggins was his. He just had to make sure to keep him.

"What's wrong?" Bilbo's voice softened with worry.

Thorin swallowed, shifting his hold to the back of Bilbo's head, taking care not to yank or cause further injury. "A compromise," he said, watching the color of Bilbo's eyes. "Once Gloin declares you well, I shall start preparing you by using my fingers." When Bilbo made a dismayed sound and attempted to pull back Thorin held him in place. "Only my fingers, nothing else. When we do this I will ask whether you wish for more." He kept his hobbit's gaze. "I swear to you that I shall abide by your decision. Your answer, whatever it may be, will decide the course of our intimacy for the night."

"What if I never allow it? You expect me to believe that you will never attempt more? You can easily overpower me. You have the law by your side. I cannot do anything to stop you from taking what you want." When Bilbo tried away to move away and failed, he placed a hand on Thorin's chest, seeming to land on his heart. Thorin shuddered when that small hand ran across his chest, fingers tickling the hair and nipple in such a blatant tease. Yet, Bilbo Baggins gaze was just as dark and cold as ever, little crystal cracks of misery stark and riveting. "I find myself doubting your word, King Thorin," now it was he who mocked with his words. "But I have no choice, do I? Whether I believe you or not, this is the compromise you grant me. Whether you keep your promise or not, this is what I shall have to live with."

He said these as statements rather than questions, but still Thorin felt compelled to respond in agreement. "No, you do not."

Bilbo's face hardened, but he nodded his head making a decision immediately. He took hold of Thorin's hand in his hair, clenching at the wrist and pulling it away. Thorin made ready to catch hold of his hobbit again, but stopped when Bilbo's fingers slid into his, small digits cold but pressing firmly in between his.

"Here, you say?" Another, small fingertip came to graze his collarbone, causing the king's hair to rise on end. "This is where you wish my mark on you?" Bilbo's eyelids were half mast, heavy over the icy heat. Thorin was being burned by them, through skin, flesh and bone.

At his stunned silence, Bilbo made a small sound that shook his body, like a gasp that was mixed with a giggle. He whispered lowly, "Fine then."

And when he descended, Thorin was consumed.

* * *

The sun had fully set, the sky dark with neither moon nor stars. A cloudy night, it seemed. So different from the clear brightness of the morning.

Bilbo had wanted to open the balcony door, to let the wind hit his face so that he might smell whether there would be a hint of rain during the night. But Thorin had fallen asleep with head on Bilbo's chest and a thick arm curled around his torso, holding him close as if he feared Bilbo would flee him during the night.

Foolish dwarf, as if Bilbo had anywhere to go.

The fire had died some time ago, Thorin had killed the torches before wrapping himself around Bilbo and falling asleep, plunging the room to darkness. A heavy chill was settling, and Bilbo found himself both irritated and relieved that the dwarf king deemed it fitting to use Bilbo as a pillow. The quilts were tangled at their feet, leaving their torsos bare to the cold, but his kingly husband, with hair and body that seemed to beat with the heat of a thousand furnaces served as a warm substitute.

There was still a dull pain in his head, but it seemed to be improving to Bilbo's relief. Thorin had been trying to stay awake with him, but the dwarf had succumbed to exhaustion. Dousing all the lights had not been the most brilliant ideas if fighting off sleep. This did not bother Bilbo, though he had pulled a bit at those dark braids when he first realized Thorin had fallen asleep on him when he was supposed to be helping him stay awake. Head injury and all.

It was a bit of relief to finally be alone with his thoughts without worrying how he was being observed...though he suddenly wondered if Thorin kept his spies hiding in the room, creeping under the bed like a rogues.

Clenching his jaw, his fingers found those little braids and began to undo them.

He wondered if he would be allowed to the mines again. It irked him at how disastrous such an innocent exploration had ended. Thorin had spoken words of fear at an attempt on his life by the mechanisms of his father. Had the accident been a construct of sabotage with ill-intent? Was there such a strong opposition for Bilbo being in Erebor, married to Thorin? If so, why bring Bilbo to the mountain in the first place? What was Thorin trying to accomplish?

Thankfully, that miner had come to his rescue, or else Bilbo would be dead and Thorin's plans, whatever they may be, for naught.

It still rankled that Bilbo had not thanked the dwarf. At first he had been so confused and rattled, once his senses had returned was mortified at how he clung to the strange dwarf, and then angered at the red-haired dwarf's attempts to strip him. These dwarves kept throwing him off his feet, literally and metaphorically. Had he been in the Shire, no matter how livid, Bilbo would have remembered his manners.

He would have invited the miner to tea, sat him in his sitting room, and they would have had a decent conversation in which Bilbo would express his gratitude.

Bilbo was shamed to realize he had not even inquired the miner's name.

Yet, though nameless, though his memory made Bilbo flush with discomfort, he could recall the dark brown of those eyes, surrounded by lines of hard work, gentle and filled with alarmed worry. There was no pity, no arrogance, nothing that Bilbo had become accustomed to seeing with every single dwarf he had met.

It occurred to Bilbo that so far he had only met the aristocracy of the dwarves. The noble class who lorded and ruled, who had riches, and wore fancy cloth, jewels and rich metals. These were the dwarves who bowed with knowing eyes, who called him, "The King's Consort" and whispered amongst each other in the language he was forbidden to learn.

What of the average dwarf, the working dwarf, the miner, welder, mechanic and shop seller? How did they see Bilbo Baggins when he walked by? Did they see the King's Consort, or did they see a hobbit surrounded by a bodyguard of lies?

Perhaps he would ask Dori to take him to the markets of Erebor. Perhaps he might find something outside this room to occupy himself with. Something for himself, a bit of the old Bilbo Baggins of Bag End.

With a satisfied huff, Bilbo let himself sink further into the pillows, running his hands through Thorin's destroyed braids.

First, he would find that miner, invite him to tea and biscuits, and introduce himself:

"My name is Bilbo Baggins," he whispered into the dark. "And my home is the Shire."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winston Churchill said, "In wartime, the truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies." Oh how right you were, Mr. Churchill.
> 
> If you would like read my rambles about Thorin's characterization, you can check out my tumblr (the name is tristripe) and a semi-retelling of that awkward meeting between my father and I at the coffee house.


	9. Heirs to the Throne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You're SICK!" That is what I have been for nearly two weeks. As I type this chapter my hands are shaking from the amounts of drug pumped into me. Not fun. This chapter was difficult to write because for some reason it lacked emotion. I've tweaked it as much as I could, any more and I'm likely to go crazy. Enjoy it, cause even if it is lacking I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> I have found the theme song to this story. It is called "Narcissistic Cannibal" (cover) by Earlyrise. Listen to it!
> 
> Chapter Warning: Dwarf Perspectives.

Dwalin was trained for kings.

Where his brother Balin had been taught the way of the word and cutting battles waged within the inner workings of Erebor's politics, he was trained with his body, his scars the only words necessary to prove his allegiance to the line of Durin. Fundin, their father, had seen the potential in his sons in both mind and body and made them to be the hands of their kings. They had the loyalty, honor and strength to make their lord's wishes reality. More than that was the love they willingly gave to their liege, undying even as everything slowly crumbled around them.

Dwalin did not think too much of such things. Oh, he knew what went on in the shadows, whispers muffled in beards, the mechanisms of minds far too sly. He saw with his own eyes the fall of their old king, the madness of his son and despair of the grandson. Dwalin could feel the cracks in the foundation of their kingdom, but that was a worry for a mind like his brother's. Let Balin try to use his pretty words in an attempt to thwart the inevitable. Dwalin would use his body as he had always done.

Dwalin had been trained to teach kings.

Thorin had been an apt and able pupil. He took to his lessons in weapons and war with the seriousness only befit of Durin's child, the blood of kings ran deep. He was the heir to the throne of Erebor and took to it with all his heart. He would lay down his life, piece by piece, bone by bone for his home and people. With strength. With conviction.

Dwalin would follow Thorin to the ends of Middle Earth, for that was how far Thorin would dig in an attempt to save them.

So Dwalin did not question, did not hesitate. Thorin needed that, for where Balin was his writing hand that dealt with the heavy politics of the courts, Dwalin was the hand that held the ax and blade, the hand that would assure the survival of his king.

Thorin was safe because of Dwalin. Thorin was a warrior surrounded by the greatest of warriors because of Dwalin.

And Dwalin was proud.

Fili and Kili were late for their weapons lesson.

This was not a new thing. Not at all. The princes of Erebor were nothing like their uncle in stature and air. Or punctuality. Thorin had taken after Thror. The princes took after their mother, wild and unruly but fierce as fire...and at times just as uncontrollable as those very flames.

Thorin had been raised surrounded by stability and strength. But that was all lost now...

When had they lost it all...?

Dwalin did not ponder. He did not seek his missing students. They would come when they came, whether voluntarily or dragged by their baby whiskers by their uncle. It mattered naught to Dwalin as long as he was prepared for their arrival with a harsh lesson that would pound every drop of sweat out of them. It would not be the first time, nor would it be the last.

So Dwalin sat on the cold stone of the training arena, back pressed into the strong wall and his ax propped on his shoulder. He chewed at some salted venison, drank from a flask of ale and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It was not Fili nor Kili who entered the arena not ten minutes later, feet rushed and hurried as if chased by an orc's hound. Dwalin could not mask the surprise of seeing Dori charge in, his face red and splotched with such temper that for a moment he feared something happened to the other's family.

"Dori," he called to the other who stopped in his stampede at a wall mounted with axes of varying sizes and weight. "It has been many days since you have trained."

He was not surprised when the white haired dwarf pulled the heaviest ax from the wall with one hand, swinging it with a vicious cut that Dwalin felt his blood begin to sing with anticipation. He pushed to his feet, stance wide and sturdy.

Dori glared at him, a thick thumb running along the edge of the blade, testing its cut. "You know what I have been about. Very much like what you were tasked with not too long ago," he said meeting Dwalin's stand with his own.

Dori was average height for a dwarf, but one of thick muscle and powerful strength. Dwalin could not help the toothy sneer, "I had him for far longer and never was driven to such composure as I see you now." He brought the rod of his ax up just in time to block the blade of Dori's from sinking into his chest. The strike sent a strong vibration from his fingers to his teeth. He had always enjoyed fighting Dori, just to feel the sheer power of his blows. "Really, what could such a small thing have done to raise such ire? All you need is bark and he will keel over in fright."

He thrust forward, shoving his shoulder into Dori's gut, and was rewarded by the pummel of the ax slamming into his spine. He dropped to one knee and then swept his weapon against Dori's legs, sending him down to the same level as he. The other dwarf seized him by the back of the neck and brought their heads together with such force that Dwalin would have been sent backwards had he not been held with an iron fist.

"You," snarled Dori, "have not felt his bite. His teeth are flat and small but he sinks them in and does not let go until he has gnawed through bone."

Dwalin pulled up the memory of a pale little hobbit, sitting awkwardly on the saddle of a pony, wincing daintily with every jostle and jump. The same little hobbit that snapped and brushed his hands away from their food, and glared hatefully at his brother's back.

He thought of the journey back from the Shire fondly because of Bilbo Baggins. Even with everything they had known about the hobbit, the caution and instruction, Balin and he were waylaid by their discovery of what exactly they were bringing back to Erebor. They knew he was intelligent, they knew he had been taught by a well-traveled parent and that he came from a prominent hobbit family of power and prestige. What they hadn't anticipated was that their king's consort was sharp, witty, well-read, cautious and among all else honorable.

Even with bruises stark on his bird-like wrists Bilbo Baggins never once attempted to break the contract he had signed.

He had flat unassuming teeth, just as Dori observed, but how he bit like a dwarf!

And Dwalin was proud.

They pulled back from each other, Dwalin grinning through his teeth and Dori breathing heavily to calm his rattled nerves.

"He obeys," Dori admitted. "He does not act against any of our orders. Not directly."

"He knows what's at stake," Dwalin shrugged, deflated that the fight was over so soon.

"What he knows is nothing! He is just as ignorant as he was when he first set foot into Erebor."

Dwalin stepped back and pulled out his flask of ale. "So he obeys. Isn't that expected?"

Dori shook his head with a snarl. "He has no respect for us! I've been thrown out of his room far too many times to count now, and I am close to throttling the little imp at his impertinence! He cast me out just now because we have not been able to locate the miner who rescued him the other day! He acts as if I am purposely thwarting him, which is not the case! Every attempt I make to try to make him feel comfortable he spits right back in my face!"

"Yet Thorin is content."

"More than content," Dori snorted. "It is dangerous, Dwalin. This hobbit is in no way cowed, nor does he truly try to understand his role here. He is too unpredictable. Thrain is becoming more erratic, and I cannot trust that little imbecile from finding a way to blast all of Thorin's plans to Mordor!" When Dwalin offered the flask to him he took a large swig. "Thorin will not say anything to Master Bilbo until the wizard arrives...but how much can we trust a wizard?"

Vaguely hearing the sounds of his students feet approaching, he hefted his ax and said, "It matters not. As long as Thorin leads, all we need to do is follow." Dwalin would not be bothered by such thoughts. Thorin would do as he wished when it came to Bilbo Baggins. After all, the little hobbit had enough spine to handle what was dealt him.

However, instead of two chagrined dwarf princes, it was his brother Balin who entered the training arena, his white head turning from side to side searchingly.

"Where are the princes?"

* * *

Fili and Kili were late. That was not an abnormal occurrence. They were often late. More often late than on time. It was a constant irritant to their uncle, and the court and...everyone, but really when observed objectively it was not so surprising that they were late more often than early.

They were a chaotic duo. Everyone said it. But then they were young, and chaos was acceptable for the young. It was no fault of theirs that they became what everyone said they were all along. Their mother was wild in her days, so really it was in their blood. So when they climbed and destroyed and played pranks and were late for their lessons it should not come as any surprise. They were their mother's children after all.

It wasn't even that they failed in their duties. They excelled in their tasks and lessons...as soon as they got there, that is. Fili was close to holding his own against Dwalin of all dwarves, and Kili was making a name for himself with his proficiency with the bow and arrow. So really, what mattered if they missed a lesson or two because they overslept or lost time exploring the mines or got into a tussle with a pair of humans from Dale City...

...actually that tussle nearly became a riot so they were technically at fault there, but that was another story...

It was even less surprising they were late since Fili and Kili still shared their rooms and bath, and sometimes, because they were young and sometimes the young have difficulty waking up (not because they had snuck some ale last night, not at all), which made them frantic because first lesson was always weapons practice and Dwalin did not punish them he murdered them when late. Two young dwarves sharing a room frantically flailing about in the morning did not lead to efficient time management in getting to their morning practice.

It was even less efficient when in midst of their flails, one brother's hair (that should have been braided but he did not have time for such grooming) got tangled in the other's mail chain-links so that they were stuck together in a most ridiculous way, and they were not in their rooms any longer but in the hallways of the royal wing, crying out and shouting at the other on how to get free.

So it wasn't their fault that in a vain attempt to get loose they ended up colliding with a door that was suddenly thrown open and they fell through it ungainly only to find their uncle's hobbit looking down at them in baffled disapproval.

"Now that is quite enough! Your caterwauling can be heard as far as Mirkwood!"

Next thing they knew small bony fingers were pinching each of their ears and they were being hauled up to their feet. "Quit your wiggling!" Their uncle's hobbit snapped at them fiercely. At the bark, the brothers instinctively held still as deft little fingers freed Fili's blond strands for Kili's mail, and in seconds they were free.

They only had a moment of relief before the hobbit shut his door and said, "Good. You two are just in time for breakfast. Come along, I have everything set on the balcony."

They gaped at the hobbit, who was dressed in a simple yet elegant looking gold vest over a pristine white shirt and dark brown trousers. He walked through the room to the open balcony doors. "Don't dawdle," he chastised when he found them standing in place.

Kili looked to Fili in panic. They hadn't seen hide or hair of their uncle's consort since the ceremony, and though it would be in bad manners to decline the offer, there very late. Fili cleared his throat before saying, "Mister Bilbo, we do not mean to seem rude, but we do not have time for...breakfast" he elbowed his brother as the sound of Kili's stomach growling, completely ruining his argument.

Bilbo Baggins frowned at them, and even though there was no way that the hobbit was threatening, he was very small after all, the look made the bother's shift in discomfort.

"Nonsense, there is always time for breakfast," Bilbo quipped as if what they had said made no sense to him.

When it became obvious that they did would not budge, the hobbit huffed, a bit of breath from his mouth jostled a curl over hi brow. With pursed lips he stomped over to them, taking hold of each their wrists and manhandling them forward. Not with strength, there was barely any muscle on the hobbit, but he had thrown the brothers off so much that they followed along with his prods, through the room and out onto the balcony.

"Really," the king's consort grumbled. "If you were young hobbit lads, the mere mention of breakfast with me would send you scrambling over the other for a chance of a bite. Thought dwarves had appetites like us hobbits..."

There was a round table with four seats pushed close to the rail so there was a great view of Dale City and Mirkwood Forest. A good sized platter was laid out with pastries, fruit, seasoned meats and tea.

The sun was warm and bright, the air smelled like moist nature and city and spice.

And there were hungry. Very, very hungry.

"Please," Fili tried valiantly even as he was gently pushed down into a chair followed by Kili who was eyeing the seasoned meat with round eyes. "We're late for our lessons, and practice with Dwalin..." Would kill them, squash them, grind them to ash, only to be reborn and done over again and again for eternity. And if Uncle Thorin got wind of it...

"Dwalin?" Bilbo was pouring some tea into a glass. "He always had breakfast at this time."

Kili said, "Yes, after he practiced." It was a frightening thought, to have traveled alone with both Dwalin and Balin. How had the hobbit survived?

Bilbo Baggins served them with a serious face, sitting only once his guests were settled with their drinks. "What's the need for practice here in the palace?" He asked in a curious voice. "I understand keeping up while traveling a dangerous road, but in the comfort of your own home?" He took a sip from his own tea and sighed, "Things are so different here."

Keeping to their manners, the brothers drank. Fili nodded to his brother when he noted how desperately Kili looked to food, unable to help a quirk of his lips when Kili attacked the meat and strawberries like one starved.

It was embarrassing to watch, so instead Fili tried to distract from the display of Kili wolfing five strawberries at once. He looked to the hobbit and commented, "I heard about your accident. We are relieved that you were not hurt too badly."

The hobbit smiled a bit, tearing into some bread and cheese. Fili noted how Bilbo's plate was piled with food, equaling that the amount Kili was demolishing as if in competition. "The platform might disagree," Bilbo said once he had swallowed completely. "I hear it was unsalvageable."

There was something bitter; subtle but enough that it stopped the brothers at the implication. Kili, rash, leaned forward. "You are far more important than a platform!" He exclaimed. His mouth had been filled with food, and some meat flew from his lips.

Bilbo blinked at him in surprise, and then chuckled ruefully. "I apologize; I meant it in a poor attempt of humor. Bad taste." He paused, and then looked at them with all sincerity. "I never had the chance to thank you two."

At their combined confused looks he explained. "The day of the marriage ceremony, I earned the ire of King Thrain, and I know you two got King Thorin before the situation escalated. Thank you."

The brothers looked to one another, Kili fidgeted and Fili swallowed a lump in his throat. They had never spoken about what had happened that day. They would have happily forgotten about the whole thing. Their grandfather had acted out with no provocation, and they had truly feared for the hobbit's life in that instant.

"Our grandfather," Fili said carefully, "has not been well since the death of King Thror. Uncle Thorin tries to temper his moods, but it is difficult when grandfather holds most of the court and nobles in sway. We did not expect the way grandfather took notice of you. I don't think uncle even expected it either or else he would have made sure to keep you at a distance."

Fili offered no apology. He was the heir and would not bow his head down, just as he had been taught. Just as Uncle Thorin never apologized for every decision he made, even when it placed him at odds with his father. Even when he allowed himself to crumble when he thought no one was watching. Even when it seemed that he was becoming the thing he feared the most.

And Fili was Thorin's heir.

"But don't worry," Kili interjected suddenly, placing a fist on his chest. "Uncle will never let anything happen to you, even if he has to fight grandfather. We will protect you as well."

The bravado in his brother's voice made Fili wince, but the truth in his words were resolute. Despite everything, Bilbo Baggins was important. His safety was important. They had all sworn to do anything possible to make sure the hobbit stayed safe. It was the least they could for his sacrifice.

"That's a lot of protection," Bilbo commented. He did not look impressed, or relieved by such a vow, which distressed the brothers. As if their promise meant nothing, as if the hobbit did not understand how much they risked for him...how much their uncle had fought for him...

"You wish to go back. To the Shire." Fili blurted out, almost in anger. He immediately regrets his impertinent tongue. It was cruel to expect Bilbo Baggins to understand. He was a hobbit, not a dwarf.

Bilbo's expression hardened and he looked away from them to the world outside Erebor. The sun was shining onto his face, lighting it up in warmth despite the cold in his eyes. "Have you traveled?" he asked.

It was an odd question, but Fili nodded. "To the Iron Hills, and once to the Blue Mountains."

"Did you enjoy your travels?"

Kili smiled, not at all bothered by what odd direction the conversation had gone. "It was amazing!" He said. "I wish to go again in the near future." They had seen so much; beauty and danger and their people proud in their realms.

"And your hearts? How far did they travel?"

Kili made a small sound, caught in the trap laid by Bilbo Baggins. Fili answered without hesitation, "It strayed. Many times. But it always returned to Erebor."

"Those are completely different circumstances," Kili argued, glaring at Fili. He turned to Bilbo who was staring at the blond prince with wide eyes at the blatant admittance. "Your heart should be here, Mister Bilbo!" Kili implored, reaching forward and taking hold of the hobbit's hand with two of his, engulfing the small appendage. "Your heart should be here, with Uncle Thorin. When we traveled, there was nothing for us in the other mountains. But for you, Erebor is your new home, and Uncle Thorin is your spouse and king-"

"Kili!" Fili admonished sharply, silencing his brother.

Too late.

Bilbo pulled completely away from Kili, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles were stark white, his face bloodless and body shaking in rage. "The king," he spat at Kili's youth, "does not want my heart!"

Fili could not look away from the color of Bilbo Baggins' eyes. There not a unique color, but striking in their own way, holding him with the heated cold there, like coal that burned with blue embers at Kili's words, words that Fili would never echo, even in frail hope. Fili would be king one day and he understood the role of the hobbit from the Shire.

Kili was still young, and his understanding was young, filled with romantic notions that were cruel, so cruel when spoken in the face of the truth of the situation.

Kili was blinking his eyes in distress, looking from the hobbit and then to Fili. When he looked about to argue Fili snapped, "Brother, it is rude to argue when we are guests on Mister Bilbo's table. No matter what you think it is not our place to question his feelings." He turned to the hobbit then, unapologetic, "We are the princes of Erebor, heirs to the line of Durin. Our place is beside the king."

Fili did not think it possible, but Bilbo Baggins seemed to pale even more. "And you will continue what the king started."

He said this not in anger; no, it was something else, a deep understanding that echoed so vile in his words. Fili shuddered, hating how much they both understood each other in that moment.

Bilbo Baggins belonged to the Durins. If his uncle ever fell, Fili or Kili had the choice to take him as consort, and if they chose not to, he would be passed to Dain. There would be no escape for Bilbo, no return home in freedom. Fili would not allow it, not with everything Thorin had fought for. Nor would he allow Kili to be thrust with this horrible burden of ownership, to be caught in such a miserable bond.

The hobbit understood this. It was made clear. Fili would have him. He would not lie about it, would not grant any cruel false hope, nor would he apologize for it. He would not look away in shame, not from those accusing eyes, hateful and helplessly caught. There would be no love there, no 'heart' as Kili thought there should be. Just two individuals chained together by circumstances far greater than their own desires.

The poisonous silence was shattered when the door to the room was thrown open, startling them despite their location on the balcony. All three of them made equally distressed sounds when Thorin entered, his face thunderous, hair flying about his shoulders as he stormed towards their little breakfast party.

Fili scrambled out of his seat in haste, Kili stumbled beside him as their uncle loomed into their faces, grabbing them both by the scruff of their necks.

"The palace is near in arms and you two are here playing?" Their uncle snarled. "Your teachers panicked thinking the worst, rumors already echoing in the halls, and you sit here oblivious to your surroundings!" He shook them fiercely, "Your grandfather's paranoia is ready to accuse the blasted humans of Dale, risking a confrontation that we cannot afford, and all because my heirs do not understand their stations!"

Completely and utterly chastised, the brother's grit their teeth in silence at their uncle's well-deserved anger. They were far beyond late. They had disappeared, forgetting their responsibilities so completely.

But then suddenly Bilbo Baggins, still pale from their argument, was beside them. "What are you doing?" his voice was high in alarm even as he brought his tiny hands up to clutch at Thorin's sleeve. "Let go of them before you snap their necks! They were only having breakfast with me."

The hold did not lesson, but the shaking had stopped, and thankfully, though still thunderous Thorin's gaze was no longer on his nephews but on his consort. "Why would they be having breakfast in our room," he growled, deep in his chest.

Surely, the little hobbit would be cowed by the king's anger. Surely he would step back and allow the king to punish his wayward heirs. Thorin had never beaten them, but his anger was frightening enough, even to family.

Instead, Bilbo answered in full honesty, "They are having breakfast in our room because I invited them. Where else should we have breakfast? In the corridors? Perhaps the mines would have a better view, falling platforms and all."

Thorin released them, turning to face his little consort fully. Fili grabbed Kili's wrist to keep him in place, perhaps if they stayed very still they would be saved from serious punishment. Three days of lessons with Balin in history wouldn't be too horrible, or even twenty-four hours of military lessons, that was fine. Not sequestered with Ori as he alphabetized the libraries. That punishment would make them bleed from the eyes!

"Do not make light of this," Thorin was saying, tone still dark with temper.

"I am not making light of anything," Bilbo responded, unafraid. "It would have been unmannered of them to decline my invitation."

"They should have explained to you -"

"They did," Bilbo interrupted. "But they had not eaten and it is unhealthy for young ones such as them to be skipping their meals, even if it meant being late for a lesson or two."

Thorin reached up then, his hand tangling into the curls on the base of the hobbit's neck. It was nothing like the hold he had his nephews moments ago, it was firm but gentle, tilting the face up to stare down into.

Kili gaped, and Fili looked away in discomfort.

Thorin leaned down close, and when he spoke there was an odd amusement in there that had not been present before. "Fili and Kili are not hobbit children. They are princes that have a lot to learn if they are to rule one day."

"Even more important that they do not skip their meals, nourishment for their minds and body."

The king suddenly smirked, a look that made Fili wish to be gone immediately from the room, covering his brother's eyes. The hobbit seemed to interpret the look in the same way, a blush forming on his cheeks.

The king raised his other hand, touching the rose color on Bilbo cheek with the back of a finger. "You are in a peculiar mood this morning," he commented, voice rough and low.

Mahal, Fili cursed silently. His uncle had forgotten that his innocent, pure nephews were still with them! Watching and hearing things that they really, really should not be seeing and hearing!

"My breakfast was interrupted," Bilbo said, turning his face away from the touch. He looked to the brothers, dark gaze assessing their mortification before turning back to look at his king. With a hesitant hand he reached up and let his fingers weave through their uncle's hair that hung over his shoulder. "Why don't we let the boys salvage what's left of their lessons and explain themselves to their teachers. It's near time for Second Breakfast and I still have plenty food and tea. I bet you have not eaten yet."

Their uncle's eyes were trained on those thin fingers in his hair, white against pitch black. "I have my own responsibilities."

"Which you would perform better with a full stomach." Bilbo let his hand fall to take Thorin's hand in his. "Go on, send them on their way. Have a few moments of quiet before you go off to set order to your kingdom. War with your neighbors over breakfasting princes is not so good."

Thorin narrowed his eyes suddenly, his voice hardening, "You are manipulating me to spare them."

Bilbo shrugged, undeterred. "Let their teachers do the punishing. You wish to have breakfast with me."

"And you wish to have me for breakfast?" Fili's heart twisted at the disbelief there, saddened at this uncle's question.

Hand still holding Thorin's, Bilbo said, "I wish for company for Second Breakfast."

The two stared at one another for another moment. With a slight shudder Thorin finally looked to Fili and Kili. "Go," he ordered them with a tilt of his head. "Make your apologies and let Balin know that I will be detained for a bit. Tell him I am having 'Second Breakfast' with my consort and will join him later."

"Yes, Uncle Thorin," Fili started, ducking his head and with a small bow to both him and Bilbo and dragged Kili out in a near run.

He did not look back, even when the door was shut and the two hurried down the hallway of the royal wing.

Kili pulled to his shoulder and whispered, "That was horrible." Then he laughed, embarrassed, "And awkward. Very, very awkward."

The hallways were filled with frantic guards, who all stopped in relief at the sight of the missing princes. Nobles from their grandfather's court, their beards white and bristling shook their heads at them in disapproval. The brothers gave them chagrined looks, and waved off the worry. They would receive their punishments from Balin and Dwalin, and let their uncle pacify their grandfather once he was done being occupied with Second Breakfast. Everything would be settled by the time the sun was at noon, the incident chalked up as another of the princes' young antics.

But Fili remained shaken, even after being assigned the horrible task of following Ori to alphabetize the libraries, covered in dust and fingers cut by sharp paper.

Kili had called it 'horrible', but his brother was young, and still could not fathom how horrible it had been. The hobbit, small hand on his uncle, the king's attention completely lost.

"I wish for company…" Bilbo Baggins had said, but never said he wished for Thorin's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Often in fandom Fili and Kili are used as comedic relief. Easy enough since they had their humorous moments in the movie. However, their youth, especially Kili's was painful to watch knowing how The Hobbit ends.
> 
> I tried to avoid casting them as comic relief. This story and situation does not leave much room for that, especially with the reality of how bound Bilbo is to the line of Durin. Fili and Kili know about the contract, that if Thorin dies they have the option of claiming Bilbo. However, it is Fili who truly understands the full implications of this, of how horrifying of a situation it is. It is a burden, a sacrifice. As elder brother, he refuses to allow Kili, romantic Kili, to end up in a loveless marriage like Thorin. Fili, as the heir would take it with eyes wide open.
> 
> Poor Bilbo, any hope that he might get out if Thorin dies was dashed in this chapter :(


	10. The Princess's Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait my beloved readers. For the curious, please refer to my tumblr to read about the reasons behind the delay. For everyone else, enjoy the chapter :)
> 
> Chapter Warning: Some smexiness

"What did you do to pass the time?"

Bilbo blinked up at the dwarf king, his body covered in sweat and still tingling in post coital pleasure.

"Pardon?"

King Thorin lay at his side, propped up on one elbow looking down, his hair wild and braids frayed. Bilbo had taken a liking to burying his hands into the thick dark locks during their intimacies, quietly reveling in how his kingly spouse always seemed to come out so unraveled.

"You had no occupation, no job to work towards," Thorin continued, "no familial obligations after the death of your parents. So I wonder about what you did with your time."

"My relatives were occupation enough," he grumbled. "Never had a day go by without one of them knocking at my door asking for something or other, sticking their noses where it did not belong." He rolled his eyes at the disbelieving look. "You never met Lobeila Sackville-Baggins. She could argue all your advisors and nobles till they were blue in the faces and still come out with the last word."

Thorin snorted, raising one hand and trailing the back of his knuckles over the softness of Bilbo's belly. "Sounds more like a dwarf maiden than hobbit lass."

Bilbo grunted in agreement, shutting his eyes and letting himself sink into a semi doze with Thorin stroking him.

They rarely spoke after sex. This was different, talking after, when pleasure still over-riding common sense and memory of hurt. Bilbo could look the strong prominence of the dwarf king's forehead, shiny with perspiration, the fine hairs at his temples black and moist. He could admire the sharp length of his nose, and the deep blue of his eyes, brooding, burning and passionate, so filled with hidden words and shrouded with heavy secrets.

King Thorin was handsome, Bilbo allowed himself to think.

"I used to garden, you know," he said quietly. "The best kept garden in Hobbiton. Had to bring in Hamfast Gamgee to help maintain when it was getting too big for me to handle on my own." He used to wear the straw hat his mother had weaved for his father to keep the sun rays from toasting his head. Young Hamfast had made numerous comments on the hat until Bilbo had contracted one of similar design for him.

Hamfast Gamgee was a simple as a hobbit could be, but he was honest and hardworking, and paid little heed to the nary say of wagging tongues.

"What else?" came another quiet question.

Bilbo shifted, pushing down onto Thorin's shoulders so that the dwarf lay on his back with Bilbo now hovering over him. He liked this position the best, looking down felt better on his neck that constantly craning up.

"What are you after?" Bilbo asked.

Dark brows came together in a fierce scowl. "I cannot ask my spouse about his likes and dislikes?"

"Did it matter before?" Bilbo ran his fingers through coarse chest hair, letting his lids droop over his eyes and tilted his head slightly as he observed his lord husband. When he was answered with silence he asked, "Does it matter now?"

Thorin replied, "You have been with me nearly two months' time. I'm..." there was great hesitance in his voice when he continued. "It is easier to be beside you, to talk, to touch. I know Dori takes you to Dale often, yet you bring nothing back from your expeditions. During our breakfasts together you sit in silence and allow me to speak, yet reveal nothing of yourself."

Bilbo's hands stilled, chilled. "What more do you wish to take from me, my lord?" The immediate stiffness of the muscles and joints beneath his palms was satisfying. The barely concealed hurt in those eyes, though, was unexpected. Feeling suffocated, Bilbo pushed away and turned his back to the king. "You are becoming deluded by sentiment," he said, sharply pulling the quilts over his shoulders. "I have followed every obligation drafted by our contract. Do not expect anything more of me."

"So I cannot ask about you?" King Thorin's voice was as stiff where lay, unmoving in the face of Bilbo's ire.

"I reserve the right to answer if I wish to or not. Send your spies out to seek what they will about it. Your answers need not come from me."

The silence was cold and biting. Bilbo turned into his face into the pillow and bore it.

* * *

"I have been ordered to show you something, Master Bilbo."

Dori was in black and silver today, his braids seemed to be braided extra tightly, and his cheeks slightly flushed. He had been drinking before coming to meet up with him, Bilbo observed with sick pride. He was driving a dwarf to drink.

Bilbo had been planning to stay in today. Seeing dwarves day in and day out was grating, and having to talk up to the humans in Dale City, bearing with their blatant staring and loud whispers (as if he didn't get enough in Erebor) was beginning to fray his nerves. He enjoyed Dale very much, loud and boisterous with so many sights to see, but his eyes always darted to eye-level hoping to find the slight frame of a fellow hobbit.

As if a hobbit would be found do far East.

And the humans called him 'Halfling', more so than the dwarves. Half of what? Bilbo could not guess. Why he was a half of something, yet a dwarf was just a dwarf and a human just a human, and an elf simply an elf...why did these races seem to view him as deficient in something? He was merely a hobbit. How difficult was that?

Bilbo glared at his caretaker. "Why ordered? Where to?" he demanded. "I wish to stay in today."

Dori's nostrils flared - an indication of shortened nerves. "Once I've shown you, you may do as you like, whether it be here or there or anywhere you wish in Erebor. I promise it is not far." He paused. "We are actually not leaving the Royal Wing."

Making sure it was obvious how put upon he was, Bilbo allowed Dori to lead him out of his chamber and into the corridors. They merely walked a couple of feet to a locked door encrusted in gold.

Bilbo blinked as Dori produced a golden key and set to unlocking the door. "Is this not Lady Dis' rooms?" he asked.

"King Thrain's daughter, sister to King Thorin, mother to the princes Fili and Kili." Dori recited, pushing the door open and waving Bilbo forward.

Itching with a long forgotten curiosity, Bilbo stepped forward. It was dark, no candles or lanterns lit the walls. Furniture was covered with sheets and there was the smell of layered dust unclean. Like his rooms with the king, there was a double door to a balcony shrouded with curtains that allowed murky sunlight into the forgotten rooms of a princess.

"It has been about five years since Princess Dis stayed visited," explained Dori. "At first Lord Thorin had the rooms cleaned every week, but after the second year with no inclination of her return he dismissed the servants."

"She prefers the Iron Hills," Bilbo remembered being told. The princess did not even show for her brother's marriage. He could remember standing in Bag End at the passing of his mother, seeing her shadow in every corner as the dust built up to echo her absence. Standing in Lady Dis' room, Bilbo had something within him to clench in grief.

He startled from his thoughts when Dori went to the balcony doors, and with a slight shift of rusty metal pushed them open, blinding the room with warm sunlight. "Come, Master Bilbo. See for yourself."

Turning towards the light, Bilbo walked through the doors.

And gasped.

It was a garden, or what had once been garden but now cluttered with tangles of shrubs and weeds. There were little trees, leafless and skeletal but his trained eyes knew immediately that they had some life. The floor had designed slabs of stone to make a pathway through, but was barely noticeable with how much shrubby had invaded the space.

A garden, lonely and forgotten, but reaching out for life despite being surrounded and bound by neglect.

Bilbo walked through the mess of greenery, feeling the prickles of grass and stone beneath his feet. A thin branch of what he suspected was a pear tree brushed his shoulder, and when he dug his nail into it he felt moisture push into his nail-bed. Alive.

Speechless, Bilbo turned wide eyes to Dori.

So bewildered he could not muster any anger at the smug smile on the dwarf's face. "My lord said you might enjoy this. Gave me the key this morning and ordered me to show you this place. Said that if you wish to work on it that I am to hand over the key to you and leave you to your project."

Bilbo did not hesitate to snatch the key from the dwarf's hand when he offered it, pocketing it in his jacket and trying to will the blush from his cheeks. "Leave. Go, unless you wish to get on your hands and knees and start digging out weeds."

The dwarf had the audacity to laugh, but Bilbo was already crouching down next to a bushel of shrubs, gently pushing them away and searching for what lay beneath.

"Thorin will be pleased."

Bilbo swallowed his breath when he found a baby bud surrounded by thorns.

He did not look up when Dori left him.

* * *

"I am told you took to my sister's garden quite well," was the first thing King Thorin said when he returned to their rooms that evening.

Bilbo had been weeding the whole day, only leaving when the sun had set and his visibility was becoming limited. He had torn both knees of his trousers and shirt, his hands cut from thorns and sharp brambles. They stung, yet Bilbo relished in the hurt of his hard work.

More than walking through the streets of Dale City or through the cavernous halls of Erebor, out there in that garden Bilbo had felt the first inklings of content.

Only by the graces of his lord husband.

"You could have told me about it last night," Bilbo said. He was in his dressing gown, freshly washed and wishing to go to bed early so that he could go to the garden right after breakfast. "The few moments that Dori was present ruined the atmosphere completely. I could have sworn I saw him hovering at the doors as if he expected me to get eaten by the green."

This made Thorin chuckle. "You are unfair to Dori."

True. "He is impertinent," he said instead.

"That's what he says of you."

"I'm allowed my impertinence," argued Bilbo. "We have an understanding to dislike each other. It would take the gates of Mordor's opening to have us get along."

Thorin changed into his bedclothes and joined Bilbo in the bed. "You enjoy riling him," he admonished gently.

Bilbo refused to feel guilty. "His put upon face is one of my main sources of amusement. Just as I am sure he enjoys being able to shackle my movements at your orders."

Thorin rolled closer so that Bilbo could feel his heat at his side. "Your anger is misdirected."

He turned his head to look at the Thorin. The king's face was relaxed, eyes deep and searching. There was desire, always desire, but it was calm this night. Bilbo asked again, "Why did you not tell me about the garden last night?"

Thorin blinked, "We argued. You were angry. I was unsure you would accept such an offer directly from me."

"I am always angry," Bilbo said, giving the king a scathing look. "Always."

Thorin dropped his eyes in acknowledgment, accepting it with no fault. He licked his lips, hesitant like last night. "Will your anger accept a gift from me?" he asked quietly.

"The garden belongs to your sister!" Bilbo protested, suddenly riled. "It isn't yours to give away!"

"She will not return!" Thorin's voice rose, startling Bilbo, even though his gaze remained down. "I have begged her for years to come back to Erebor, to visit her sons, to at least acknowledge our father, but she will not come. So the garden she once cared for is neglected, her rooms remain empty. And you..." He shook his head, dark hair shifting on his shoulders and then raised his eyes to meet Bilbo's. "It is only a small garden. Such a simple kindess."

"It is not mine."

"Then make it yours."

"I have my own!" Bilbo shouted his voice cracking and arresting King Thorin's eyes with his own. "It is back at Bag End, my home! You wish to be kind, then let me go back to where I belong. I-" He stopped himself, feeling his eyes well and willing them dry with cold iron. Taking a shuddering breath, he said with more calm, "But that is the one thing you will never grant. I know. I have accepted that this shall be my lot."

He startled when he felt a cold hand encase one of his own. Both of them were cold, frigid ice rubbing against each other. Looking at his spouse he saw a pale face, incomprehensibly tormented mirroring his own despair.

"Then try to accept the kindness that I am allowed to give you. You do not need to be so unhappy." King Thorin entreated.

"I _am_ unhappy," Bilbo explained.

Yet he squeezed Thorin's hand in his.

* * *

"It's coming along quite nicely!"

Bilbo rolled his eyes, looking over his shoulder at Ori. The young scribe stood with a book open, a quill at hand and scribbling into it. His fingers were ink stained, even so early in the morning, his eyes bright and a shy smile on his face as he looked about him.

"I remember Princess Dis used to spend so many hours here," he said with fondness. "She used to allow me some jammed cakes as she dictated the horticulture to me to be documented. A lot of the plants were gifts, you see. From the humans and the elves."

Bilbo stood up from where he was tending what was once a rose bush. He took off gardening gloves he had found in a small chest beside the balcony doors (a bit embarrassed that Princess Dis obviously had much larger hands than he) and looked at his young guest. "There are a lot of plants that I do not recognize," he admitted.

Ori nodded knowingly. "The land is different here, the air dryer than in the Shire. I am excited to see what you make of what is here, what more you will add to the garden."

"First I have to figure out what I am looking at. I hesitate in pulling too much out, because what might look like a weed could be something else completely."

The smile was bright and brilliant from the young dwarf's lips. "I can translate what I had written for you," he offered excitedly. "There are even drawings of each plant species. Princess Dis drew them herself."

"It's a shame she left it for so long." Bilbo lamented, stroking and errant leaf from a high bush that had the promise of budding flowers.

"She never recovered," Ori said sadly, smile gone and shoulders dropping. "In the battle to reclaim Moria, Princess Dis lost her grandfather, brother and husband. She could not stand the shades of those she loved, the departed and living alike."

"Even the living?" Bilbo prodded.

Ori nodded. "King Thrain and King Thorin returned in conflict. King Thrain's mind was shattered and King Thorin named Fili and Kili his heirs. They were now under the kings' tutelage, and the princess had little to say in their rearing after that."

How did King Thrain feel, knowing his daughter could not stand to be around him?  
How did Thorin feel, knowing his sister would not support him?  
How did Fili and Kili feel, abandoned by their mother as they took up the burdens of rule?

Bilbo pondered this, wondering if he would ever understand the complexity of this mad race.

"I hope one day you meet her, Master Bilbo," Ori said. "I'm sure you two would get along. You at least have something in common."

Bilbo snorted at this, shaking his head. "I'm not sure how much we would get along if I kill all her plants with my ignorance." He then allowed a small smile at the young dwarf, who seemed to preen at the attention. "Go get me those drawings so that at least I can start making sense of this mess. It will make due until you translate everything, yes?"

He almost laughed with how quickly Ori scrambled out.

* * *

That night Bilbo helped Thorin out of his heavy clothes, peeling the king layer by layer until he stood bare before him. He then undressed himself slowly, never breaking eye contact from heat of his spouse's eyes. He led him to bed, pushing him down onto his back and climbing on top, rubbing and stroking. He shivered as strong hands ran over his heated skin, down his back, over his hips and gripping at the globes of his buttocks.

He did not protest the intruding slicked fingers that breached him, grinding down deeper into the burn.

" _Alright_ ," he whispered, leaning down until he could feel Thorin's gasping breaths on his lips, tangling his hands into the long hairs at his temple.

At his capitulation he allowed himself to be flipped on his back, a dwarf king between his splayed legs, hard and shaking with ill-contained want.

Yet there was still hesitancy holding Thorin in place over him. Disbelief and question that made Bilbo swallow thickly.

Firmly, he pulled Thorin's head down to his, pressing them together, eyes held in understanding. Captor to captive. King to consort. Bound in shackles together like a noose around the neck of the condemned.

" _Alright_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember where I read this (most likely on tumblr), but there should be a different category added called "Universe Altered" or UA. I wouldn't place this story as an AU, because it isn't an alternative universe. It is the same Tolkein universe, except altered to fit the twisted plot in my head. And when I say twisted, I mean everything is twisted.
> 
> I am interested to see how everyone interprets this chapter. What do they think of Thorin? How do they make sense of Bilbo's actions? Does it change things, does it not change things? What does it mean, or does it mean anything?
> 
> Let me know!


	11. Carved In Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright people, time to roll up your sleeves. Things are going to get heavier from here on out. I've been excited to write these next two chapters since I figured what I wanted to do with this story.
> 
> Prepare for revelations.
> 
> Chapter Warning: Thrain. Attempted sexual assault. Violent images.

* * *

They were coming. He could hear them as he heard the beats of his heart. Thump. Thump.

_Thump. Thump._

Clawed feet. Scaled hide, calloused, scarred, made to rend, made to destroy. Armor and weapons molded of iron and steel clashed, loud and thunderous echoing their approach. Thump. Thump.

 _Thump. Thump._  
  
Sharp teeth. Yellowed and rotten, daggers to pierce and puncture, to tear from bone in thirst for blood. Thirst for pain. Thirst for death.

And laughter. Oh how they laughed, eyes gleeful, maws open, bathing in blood. Bathing in the blood of his kin.

Heads on spikes, eyes gauged, mouths open in eternal screams. They stared at him, over him, damning him through the bloody fissures. Cries of defeat, cries of pain forever silenced.

Yet he could hear them echoing loudly in the hollow of his heart. His calls of pain and loss, unheard and mute without a single soul to witness. The voices of the dead begging to be heard through his rented throat. They cut him with their suffering, just as deep as blades, sinking into flesh and carving their undoing into his bones.

 _Thump. Thump._ Coming. Coming. Always coming. Digging through earth and rock and stone. Burning through brush and tree. Invading, deeper and deeper still.

He could hear them.

And there was that silhouette, bathed in moonlight that shone through his darkness. Gone were the decapitated faces of the dead. Instead another face, small and pale in fright hovering over him so that they could share each breath. Dark curls a shade lighter than midnight bound in braided plaits over thin shoulders, cold fingers touching his lips, eyes wide and searching.

 _"Are you alive_?" a whisper.

How had such a pitiful creature managed to crawl through the slimes of his mind? As if he had any more room left in the wreckage of his soul to house such a memory. A time so long ago that made him writhe with fury and defeat, etched deep into his bones.

 _"Let me help."_ Small hands on him, fingers digging into blood caked ropes that bound him down. _"I'll get you out."_ A promise.

_Thump. Thump._

_Poison,_ he accused the distraught figure. _You are my poison._

 _"I'll save you."_ Defiance. There were always defiance in those eyes. How it came so strongly from a little creature that could be broken so easily, he could not understand it. And what he could not understand had to be corrected.

He did not want salvation, for no cure existed in the living realm could ease the pain of his loss. No salve could erase the scars that cut so deep, no potion to cure the poison in his soul. There was a grave mistake made, and he would correct it. He would conquer what was invaded, take back the riches stolen, and rebuild kingdoms of his kin that were lost. He would take, he would seek retribution, conquest will become conqueror and he would sit proud on his throne. The heads of his enemies would be mounted on display, and those who once defied him, resisted and spurred him would be forever bound to him and his.

Never again.

Thump. Thump.  
 _Thump. Thump._

_"I am coming."_

"Father?"

King Thrain blinked his eye, lid heavy as if rising from sleep. His throne was solid beneath him, the ethereal glow of the Arkenstone above, his council before and son beside him. All eyes staring at him in silence. Always such heavy silence.

He was awake. All was here, all would stay evermore.

"Father," Thorin called to him gently.

Gentle. Always gentle his eldest son. Such an unfitting characteristic of a dwarf prince, a great fault in a dwarf king. He recalled Thorin when young, carrying his brother atop his shoulders, thinking that he would grow to be strong, a worthy heir to rule Erebor.

Never had he been so wrong.

"Speak," he said when it was obvious his son was waiting for acknowledgement.

Thorin nodded, and spoke, "We have received word from the elves."

"How long has it been?"

"Three months."

Thrain grimaced. The message had been sent out by owl the day of his son's marriage. "I assume King Tharanduil declines?"

"He does," his son answered, voice heavy.

King Thrain had known despite his father's alliance with the elves, there was little love between Erebor and their neighbors in the greenwood. King Tharanduil would never jeopardize the comfort of his wood and leaves, as long as he was surrounded by his children, safe and unmolested he would not move a finger to come to aid. However, Thrain he had naively hoped that the elves would join his dwarves as allies, at least in this endeavor.

He did not hold back the sneer that twisted his lips when he announced, "Then let it be known from henceforth, that no dwarf from Erebor ever come to the aid of the elves, no matter how dire the danger. Let them fall alone in the solitude of their arrogance." His made a fist and slammed it against the green stone of his throne with a loud resounding bang. His father's ring of power burned like a fiery brand around his clenched finger, resounding his command.

His council murmured amongst themselves; the nobles present gave each other wide-eyed looks, some nodded their heads, stroked their beards in agreement to the decree. Others, King Thrain set his eye on them, shook their heads, glancing to Thorin beseechingly. They doubted him and looked to his son, always doubting his mind.

And doubting their king made them crown Thorin, crippled with loss, tears still tracking his cheeks and expecting one so young to lead them onward, as if he, Thrain son of Thror, were dead. They doubted his will to live, his will for vengeance, and took advantage of the gentleness that still resided in his child, whispered cowardice into his ear and urged him to defy his father, take the crown that was not yet his.

 _"King Thorin,"_ they proclaimed when King Thrain still lived and breathed before them. Scarred but not maimed, reeling in loss but never surrendering to its despair.

 _"King Thorin,"_ they begged, believing that his son would openly defy him, dethrone him.

Never. For all his faults and weaknesses Thorin was loyal, for all their disagreements Thorin would always bow his head to his command, always come when called to heel. Oh how he writhed, and tried to manipulate, but never would he go against his king.

And that was why King Thorin failed in his rule.

At the announcement of the end of the proceedings, the dwarves began to disperse. Thrain shrewdly watched some of the dwarves, noting the red of Gloin's beard and how the banker was gesturing wildly to his brother Oin even as they walked. Gloin held allegiance to Thorin, he knew he had been called often to Thorin's chamber for private counsel. Strong and proud and wily was that one, keen of mind and learning much from old Oin. A shame that he did not take after his brother in loyalty to the true king.

He lifted his head up, letting the flow of the Arkenstone warm him. His father, King Thror had declared the stone the heart of the mountain, for no treasure could match its brilliance. Taking a moment to admire its radiance, Thrain could almost feel the presence of his father at his back, his Majesty the strongest of dwarves.

...Heads on spikes, eyes gauged, mouths open...

Thrain swallowed thickly, fingers curling into fists. His wrists burned as if still bound, his throat tight as if choked, legs restless as if held down. He wished to throw himself to his feet, to roar and destroy and protect. Conflicted and possessed, he looked to Thorin who stood oblivious at his side. How he wished hold his son close, yet the dark urge to destroy him was strong.

Thorin was loyal, but in that he was the king's greatest enemy. Another monarch with eyes for his throne.

"I tire of this," Thrain said, catching his son's attention. "This waiting. We talk and talk, all for what?"

There was a hard, stubborn look to Thorin's blue eyes. "We cannot win alone, father."

"You doubt our strength," he accused.

His son turned to him fully, keeping his voice in a low whisper so as not to be heard. "We believed in our strength before. Look what came of it."

"The Blue Mountains and the Iron Hills will come."

Thorin shook his head, "And the loss can be even greater." He argued on, "Gandalf warns us of something foul in the mines-"

"And you shy from some obscure danger tattled by a mad wizard?" King Thrain's tone dripped with disgust. "You take counsel of a wizard over your king and father?"

The hurt in his son's countenance was palpable. Thorin crouched slightly, entreating, "He has no reason to deceive us."

King Thrain almost laughed at his son's foolishness. "Gandalf the Gray's history with us is long, Thorin. His reasoning and agendas only known to himself. We know nothing of him or his design."

"Yet grandfather trusted him and called him friend."

Enflamed, Thrain shot to his feet, nearly colliding with Thorin, who had to stumble back. But the king would have none of it, grabbing his whelp by the collar of his robe and pulling him close. "And where was this friend when we were being slaughtered?"

The color had drained from Thorin's face, eyes young and fractured in memory. Their loss cut into Thorin's bones just as deep as Thrain. Two kings bound together in scars.

His son brought a hand to his shoulder, clasping him tightly. "He brought you back to me," he said brokenly.

King Thrain could not bear the look, shoving away and averting his gaze. _Too late_ , the echoes in his heart hissed. _Too late_ , cried the faces of the dead. _Too late_ , accused the gauged sockets of the tortured.

"I tire of this," the king repeated, turning his back to his son.

"Then I shall take it from here," Thorin stated, his voice strong and belying any of the hurt that had just been exchanged between them. There, a hint of a king. _Too late._

Without another word King Thrain exited the throne room. He gave no notice to the bows of his subjects, or the saluting of the guards. He could hear words of adulation, and words of scorn on each side, a great rift in the center of the mountain and its dwarves.

Not for long, Thrain swore. Soon, never again.

Those tormented faces would be buried, and their voiceless cries silenced.

Laughter.

The King Under the Mountain felt every muscle in his body seize at the sound. He stood in the corridor of the royal wing, frozen in place at merry voices bouncing off the stones. Not the sounds of his grandsons, Thrain knew immediately, strange yet familiar in tone, the ghost of a memory standing before the glaring moon.

 _Thump. Thump._ Beat King Thrain's heart, loud as a drum. The laughing voice danced around him, brushing close but not touching, coy. One foot in front of the other. _Thump. Thump._

His scars sang to him, burning anew with the reminiscence of pain, bleeding anew, and rupturing deep. He was ablaze at the sound, mocking and teasing him. He felt both cold and hot, itching to tear out of his skin.

He stopped beside a door, sealed for so many years yet cracking open, key forgotten in the lock, the tow-headed dwarf of the young scribe emerging from it. "There is much more, Master Bilbo," young Ori was saying, head turned away from his king unknowingly. "I'll just run to the library and fetch them!"

The scribe turned and halted with a stutter, nose nearly colliding with the royal robes of King Thrain. Eyes were already wide and petrified by the time they lifted to meet him, mouth dropping open in a mortified "o". Thrain did not give him a change to utter a word, his arm snapping forward and hauling the young dwarf out the door and flinging him away. He grabbed the key and entered the room, slamming the door shut and cutting off the scribe's cry. With a swift twist he locked himself in with his ghost.

Dis's room looked nothing as it was. Skeletons and bones swathed in cloth and dust, forgotten and buried with the memories of the past, when there was always laughter and the halls were occupied by his kin. Even her scent, the perfumes she used to wear, the soaps she washed her hair and beard with had decayed with the years of absence. Yet, where there should only be the silence of the abandoned was light cast from the open balcony window, the scent of moist green and soil, and the small figure of the hobbit standing at its entrance.

Any merriment that had once stretched across those pale features was gone. Thin lips were pressed tight, the little body tense as taut rope about to snap as he faced the King Under the Mountain. Thrain had stayed away all these months since the marriage between his son and the acquisition, the demands of the throne outweighing his desire to seek out the hobbit. He knew his son kept his consort's schedule tight, his servants making sure that the two never had the opportunity to cross paths. King Thrain was never bothered by it for he knew that with a simple command he could render the contract null and take what he initially intended before his son convinced him otherwise.

The halfling now stood before him, for the first time alone before the true king and master. He was dressed simply, brown trousers stained at the knees as if he had been kneeling in dirt, held up with bracers over a simple white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His little hands were clenched at the sides, covered in dirt as his knees. The blond curls on his head were windblown and tousled. Truly, such a simple creature, crawling in dirt as he should when faced with the majesty of a dwarf king.

Did Thorin have him crawl on all fours before him? Did he have the hobbit kneel while servicing him? What had his son taught the creature after all these months of taking him to bed?

Thrain had always known his own design when he had first planned his conquest. Except what he wanted was long passed. No dark braids, no figure in the moonlight, no white fingers to touch him, no voice promising to save him. Yet he could see his poison standing before him in the body of this Bilbo Baggins, the sound of laughter was undeniably the same. It was there, its' memory his to keep and his to take. Why should he deny himself when it was taunting him so?

The hobbit must have ascertained Thrain's decision, for his eyes widened in alarm and he sprang away, darting behind a cloth covered table. The pitiful attempt was amusing, and Thrain raised his hands, fingers empty and harmless.

"Come now," his voice was hoarse and hollow despite the flame burning within him. "Has my son not taught you to pay respect to your king?"

The hobbit shook his head. "King Thorin is my king," he said, his curls shifting atop his head and around his neck. It had grown longer over the months, yet still not adorned by the royal clasps. A silent defiance. Always defiance.

So different, yet the same. His poison appeared before him in different shades.

King Thrain surged forward, muscles stiff from years on the throne, age in his cracked bone, springing to new life. The halfling cried out as he tried to twist away, the table serving as fragile barrier between them. The will of the king was mighty and his desires would not be denied. In an instant the table was overturned and he had the small creature in his hands, shoulders thin as memory fighting against him in earnest. Clenched fists beat at his arms and chest, little stones against armor, little nails sank into the skin of his hands, bare feet stamping and kicking at his legs.

Blond curls and dark braids were the same. Pale face, accusing eyes, his poison again, rejecting him again and again and again.

 _Thump. Thump_. Little fists beat him. _Thump. Thump._

"What are you doing?!" The hobbit shouted in outrage as the king pushed him down with such force that his legs buckled from the sheer weight, his struggle intensifying. Thrain went to his knees, crouching over the hobbit, blood singing as he caught flailing arms and pinned them down to the heaving chest with one large hand. "Get off!" Fear was speedily replacing the angry defiance, just as it should.

Just as it had before, so long ago.

Surrounded by the ghosts of a past life, Thrain sank himself onto the thrashing body and pressed his face into that pale straining neck and inhaled.

The hobbit stiffened, going still and quiet with a little gasp. Encouraged, Thrain lifted his head to look down at him. His face was terrified, turned away, cheeks red from exertion. Charmed, the king reached down and touched his little thigh, studying how the face twisted in helpless misery.

"Yield to me," he ordered, gripping the thigh, thick fingers digging into soft flesh beneath thin trousers.

The hobbit kept his face averted, eyes hard and away.

So proud, this simple creature. Always rejecting him despite the honor of  the king's interest. With a cruel twist he turned his hand to the hobbit's clothed crotch, squeezing harshly and holding him down when the halfling arched up in pain.

"Yield!" he commanded.

Instead the hobbit turned to him and spat.

They stared at each other, frozen in that instant, breathing heavily into one another.

Same. They were the same. The hobbit was his the moment he laid eyes on the figure crouching over him in the moonlight, claiming salvation and poisoning him forever. His poison. His darkness. His moon.

 _Thump. Thump._ Beat the king's heart.  
 _Thump. Thump_. Beat the hobbit's heart.

There was a dagger at throat, seeming to manifest from the shadows themselves, the sharp blade pressing into his skin.

"Again," Thrain laughed out loud, not taking his eyes off the hobbit beneath him despite the threat. "This is always how it ends between us, my dear."

His poison. His moon rising in his darkness.

And still he laughed, even when a cloth pressed over his nose and mouth, foul and overwhelming. He was falling unconscious, his hold loosening. But there was an arm around him, holding him steady not letting the king fall to injury. One of his son's servants then, he blearily thought.

If it had been Thorin, King Thrain thought, it would have been perfect.

* * *

In his defense, Nori was not used to attacking kings.

Sure if it were a human king or an elf king, an orc king or goblin king, Nori would have gladly struck down the threat without a moment's hesitation. But a dwarf king...Nori found himself stalling to intervene, even when it became obvious that help would not come in time to save Bilbo Baggins from injury. This was King Thrain son of Thror, father to his liege King Thorin. Nori may not have the blind loyalty as his brothers, but it was a daunting task to raise a violent hand against his Majesty.

Even if his Majesty seemed inclined to rape his son's consort.

Nori had not anticipated such an assault. Was quite taken aback when his brother Ori was yanked from the room and in his place the scarred king appeared, fevered eye trained on a trapped hobbit who had just moments ago been happily gardening. He had thought at first that King Thrain intended to frighten Bilbo a bit, perhaps shake him to reinforce their positions as King and royal whore.

As the situation escalated rapidly, Nori found himself breaking out into a horrified sweat as King Thrain demanded the hobbit to yield to his desires.

When Bilbo spat, it spurred Nori into action; halting any further assault with a well-placed dagger, and ascertaining his anonymity with s sleeping draught on a cloth. It would not do well for his occupation to be recognized.

King Thrain laughed and murmured nonsense before succumbing to unconsciousness. With great care, Nori rolled him off the hobbit, keeping the cloth over the king's nose to make sure that he would not awaken on them suddenly.

There was a shuddering gasp, and Nori winced when he looked towards Bilbo Baggins. It was the first time they were before one another in clear sight. Nori had studiously followed the hobbit all around Erebor, and even the few times he ventured into Dale City, but never had they been so close.

Bilbo's eyes were wide, face still pale from fright, but they were darting over him, assessing him and what dangers he posed. Then, a small breath and Bilbo said, "You're the spy."

Almost, Nori laughed. All those times the hobbit accused Thorin, and here he was, living proof. Thorin would never be able to live it down. Nori had the sudden urge to take Bilbo Baggins's lips to his in a passionate kiss. He was so clever, yet not a single dwarf in the mountain understood the true tenacity of the hobbit. Even Thorin, with his growing obsession, was blind.

Instead, Nori offered a hand to Bilbo, enjoying how the dark blue of those eyes watched his every movement. Wary, the hobbit accepted the hand and Nori helped the King's Consort to his feet. Once sure Bilbo was stable, he slowly lowered himself to one knee, and holding that beautiful gaze brought the hobbit's small hand to his lips gently.

"The Spy," Nori introduced himself. "At your service."

At the chaste kiss, Bilbo pulled his hand away behind his back, frowning at his audacity. "I highly doubt your mother named you 'Spy'," he accused.

Nori granted him a cheeky grin. "I would make a poor spy if I handed out my name so easily."

Bilbo's face pinched in unhappiness, but he nodded his head.

They turned to the locked door, hearing loud shouts on the other end.

Finally, Ori had managed to alert the guards and convince them of the danger.

"I guess that means you should be making yourself scarce, Mister Spy," Bilbo said grimly.  He took a breath, his shoulder's steeling like a warrior facing battle. He gave Nori a sharp look, "Well then, off with you!" He waved a hand as if to shoo Nori away. "I can handle it from here."

Again, Nori resisted the strong urge to kiss Bilbo Baggins. Such a waste, he thought when the hobbit turned away from him and strode with a sure step to the door. As he hid himself in the shadows of the room, eyes never leaving Bilbo's deceivingly fragile looking back, Nori almost pitied the storm that Thorin would have to weather this night.

Bilbo Baggins' silence was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: So...have some things begun to make sense? Or have I confused everyone even more? Next chapter: Bilbo demands answers.


	12. The Two Kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait, my lovelies. Unfortunately, I am going through some debilitating health issues that on most days leave completely drained. I am improving, but it is a slow process, so please be patient as I continue to get this story out to you dears.
> 
> “I See Fire” by Ed Sheeran is who you can thank for this chapter. Dear lord did it mess me up for a while, but it was such an accurate depiction of Thorin’s character.
> 
> Chapter Warning: Some blood? My altering of Middle Earth history.

Thorin's heart was pounding in his head, battle drums beating at his temples. It abandoned his chest and traversed to his mind, loudly bellowing its beats ringing in his ears. It was as if a part of himself had left his body, existing outside his skin and vibrating in wrathful fury. There was a cold desolation inside him, but with every step he took, every corner he brushed passed, it felt like he was lighting his world aflame.

He was on fire. Flames dancing wraithlike atop his skin, flickering, whipping, licking the air around him.

He could not breath.

Still, one foot in front of the other, just as he had done time and time again, into battle, into war, into the desolation of his home. He had delayed time and time again, but always knew that this day would come. From the moment he saw the madness in his father's eye, the same madness he has seen in his grandfather's, mirrored in his very own haunted ones, he knew of the inevitable fall.

He turned a deaf ear to his comrades. Balin pleading with him that things could not continue as they were, Dwalin vowing his loyalty his ax to him, his nephews questioning eyes asking what to do next, Dori and Ori begging for forgiveness.

Forgiveness. Such a funny thing to grace. Who should be forgiving whom?

With a hallow growl he banished the pale-faced guards from the royal wing, leaving the corridor hollow and empty, lit by only torches mounted along the walls. The air was cold, but he went forward without hesitating, walking into the shifting shadows.

He called out to the one shadow he could name.

"Sire," responded the voice.

Nori stood leaning with is back to Thorin's chambers, like some hired mercenary guarding the door of his traveling mistress. Despite all that transpired, he maintained an air of aloofness, an all-knowing smirk stretched across his narrow face even when facing the wrath of his lord.

Unlike his brothers, there was no apology to be had from this one. No expectation of forgiveness.

Thorin had none to spare him.

"You were supposed to protect him," were the first words snarled from the king's mouth.

"I was hired to observe," were the words thrown back at him. "I went above and beyond my call for duty, my lord."

Barely able to contain his anger, Thorin twisted his fist into his spy's tunic and pushed him firmly into the door of his rooms. He watched Nori's face for any betrayal of nervousness at being cornered so by the enraged king, and when not a trace was found he shook him in an attempt to wipe away that calm, to break his subject just as he was shattering inside.

"This," he hissed lowly, "should have never happened while you were at watch."

Nori did not raise his hands up in defense, instead tilted his head to the side and with weasel eyes glittering asked slyly, "Who do you speak of, cousin?"

"There is no one else here but you and I," Thorin hissed, his clenched fists shaking.

"Precisely," Nori smiled.

Thorin was tempted to strike his kinsman when a movement was heard beyond the door, the sound of the lock turning. With unnatural swiftness, Nori slipped out of the king's hold and withdrew into the shadows, leaving Thorin standing alone, breathing heavily with perspiration over the hairs of his upper lip as the door was carefully cracked open.

"Oh," Bilbo gasped, peeking out and making the breath shudder out of Thorin's chest. "I was not expecting you." He pulled the door open, giving space for his husband.

Thorin hesitated, swallowing stone before stepping through the threshold. "Who else would call upon you at this time?" he asked lowly.

The hobbit shut the door, the king noting how the lock firmly into turned in place. His consort's hair was newly washed; the curls at his nape still dark with dampness. He had donned a delicate looking shirt, frills at the wrists, and a golden embroidered vest buttoned around his torso.

"Oh, I don't know." Walking around him, the hobbit went to the fireplace. He had a kettle boiling - tea by the smell of it. "Today has been a day of unexpected visitors."

His throat felt dry and parched, as if he had not drank for days. All the fire and fury burning about him dissipated, leaving nothing but the cold emptiness of his hallowing his chest.

He was _tired_.

Thorin watched the hobbit take the kettle with a cloth from the fire and take it to the small table in the center of the room. He blinked at how the two chairs had been moved so they faced the other on each side of the table. Two tea drinking cups had been set, and his consort poured steaming tea into each.

That done, Bilbo looked up at him, blue eyes dark as he assessed the king before. Seeing something that Thorin could not fathom, Bilbo Baggins sighed and finally approached him. With small but knowing fingers, he undid the clasps of his overcoat, hands careful to move his long hair away as he pulled it from the king's burdened shoulders.

Next he began to work on the mail armor, releasing the thick belt. Without lifting his tawny head, he said lowly, "I finally met that spy of yours."

Thorin clenched his jaw.

Something must have alerted the hobbit of his husband's ire for he suddenly snapped his eyes up. "Stop that," he chided, lifting the armor to Thorin's chest. Mindlessly, the king pulled it up and over, handing it to Bilbo. "We both should be thankful he was lurking about," Bilbo turned his back and put away the defensive mail.

Thankful. What has Thorin to be thankful of?

A small hobbit, his prisoner, slowly peeling him layer by layer as if trying to reach the king's core.

In the next instant he had Bilbo in his arms, holding him close and burying his nose into those tight curls. He inhaled the soap and distinct scent of his consort. His fingers gripped fragile cloth so easily torn, felt the shift of skin and flesh so easily marked and bruised. Thorin _knew_. He knew very well how fragile his hobbit's skin was, how much pressure it took to leave red and blue marks, how deep his blunt nails needed to dig to elicit protest from those controlled lips, what words needed to be whispered to cause those eyes to drop in bashfulness and have cheeks blush in arousal.

How close had he come to losing Bilbo Baggins?

"Are you hurt?" he asked in a mere whisper.

He felt the vibrations of a chuckle in his consort's voice when he said, "Well, I have said that your kin are as hard as mountain rock. A bruise here and there, but nothing to be alarmed about."

Thorin held Bilbo tighter, unable to lift his head. "This should have never have happened," he admitted.

Almost he protested when the hobbit pushed away from him, but there was a gentle firmness about the way he spoke and moved before him. Thorin was held still in his presence, beholden to him and his words.

Small hands took his, grave eyes caught his own. "It is time we discuss some things, my lord," the hobbit said.

Obediently, Thorin nodded his heavy head and allowed the little creature to guide him to a seat. "I was preparing for supper when they came for me," Bilbo spoke. "As you know I lived alone, and had only prepared a plate for myself. You can imagine how unexpected it was when I got that knock on my door." A cup of tea was placed in his hand, fragile glass warming his calloused palms. "I was completely unprepared to host the Thain, my town's mayor and Shire family heads. I served them tea, and they begged me to sign a marriage contract." The hobbit moved to sit opposite him, making himself comfortable and taking a sip of his tea. "They were terrified; taking your Balin's veiled threats to heart. They were too frightened to ask the questions that should have been explained from the very start: What would Erebor and the dwarves gain by marriage to a hobbit? What would make such a race known for its pride and valor so desperate that they felt the need to threaten and bully another race? Instead, they forced my hand to sign a contract I was never given a chance to read." Blue eyes glared up at him, sharp and angry, "I despised you. Cursed you in my heart every single day of my journey here. Never have I held so much anger directed at a single being before. I never imaged such strong hatred could exist."

Thorin kept his eyes trained on the dark amber of his drink, glowing in reflection of the fireplace. "Do you wish for an apology from me?" Thorin asked aloud.

Bilbo chuckled, a dark shuddering sound. "No. Nope," he gasped out. "I already know you will never allow that – not for me, nor for yourself either."

Those words made the king's hand clench around his glass.

"No," Bilbo leaned forward, placing his cup on the table and reached into the inside of his gold vest. "No, I wish for something else. Something that you can grant me."

A small folded parchment was pulled out, unraveled and placed on the table with the words facing the dwarf: " ' _Marriage Contract of Thorin son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain and Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, King's Consort'_." Thorin looked up sharply, "What is this?"

"Our marriage contract. I wrote it shortly after I came to Erebor. Ori showed it to me, so I memorized it, then wrote it down. A reminder of what my life would be like here with you dwarves." The hobbit tapped the parchment with his finger. "I've abided by this contract well, wouldn't you agree? I've not broken it, nor challenged it in any way, have I?"

"No," Thorin agreed, the black ink of those written words imprinted forever in his mind. "You have never given reason for us to cry falsehood."

"My lord," Bilbo's voice cut like the sharpest of knives, forcing Thorin's gaze up to meet his. "The King's Consort was attacked today, threatened with harm of a lascivious nature."

The glass in Thorin's hands shattered, spilling dark tea and small flecks of blood onto the table and contract. However, neither dwarf nor hobbit moved, both staring at each other with a horrible tension that reeked of horror and rage.

It was Bilbo who blinked first with dawning realization. "You do not doubt my word." His tone did not pose question.

"I do not," the king clenched his torn fists, glass biting into still bleeding wounds. Then slowly, like draining poison he spoke words he had never dared utter to even his closest adviser Balin. "Had I not asked for your marriage, you would have been taken by my father, King Thrain."

He saw the blood drain from Bilbo's face at his admission. He could see revulsion rise then controlled on his consort's face, though it did take a moment for the hobbit to find his voice. "You're," he cleared his throat, "being quite forthright with me tonight."

Thorin slammed a bloodied hand flat onto the contract, making the hobbit jump, fingers curling the parchment into his fist. "The contract has been broken," he spat, glaring down as his fingers forced broken shards of glass deeper into his palm. "You've been waiting all this time. That's why you memorized it, wrote it, and kept it close. You've been waiting for me to fail."

There was another heavy silence with only the sounds of the fire burning behind them and Thorin's labored breathing. So focused on his failure the king did not hear the hobbit approach until small pale hands were upon his. He looked up, spooked, but Bilbo held fast.

"One of us were eventually bound to fail," Bilbo admitted, a smile sadly pulling at his lips. "Honestly, I thought I would falter first. Some days I nearly did." He took a breath, almost like a sob. "But you made it very, _very_ hard some days to hate you as I should. You know how I loathe your kindness."

To Thorin's amazement, the hobbit knelt at his side, gently bringing his bloodied hands to him and placing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. "Tell me, Thorin," Bilbo asked him, blue eyes glimmered like the brightest of gems. "What happened?"

And in that moment Thorin realized how hard he had fallen.

* * *

They sat together on their bed, a bowl of water to one side and three little jars of ointments on the other. Bilbo Baggins hunched over the king's mangled hands, gently cleaning them as Thorin spoke:

"It started with my grandfather, King Thror, and his war against the orcs that had taken over the Mines of Moria. For years he burned with hatred against that foul race, slowly gaining support from the other dwarf kingdoms to reclaim their lost home. My father and I stood by his side, never once questioning his desires. All of us truly believed that we would defeat our enemies.

"But we failed. My grandfather and younger brother, Frerin were slain, their heads cut from their bodies. My father, King Thrain was taken by their butchers and presumed dead. We fled, making camp to tend to our wounded and mourn the deaths of our kinsmen."

Bilbo lifted his head. "The Battle of Azanulbizar," he said.

Thorin nodded his head, shutting his heavy eyes. "I was declared king, and seeing the calamity that my grandfather had brought upon us decided to give up Moria to our enemies. Nothing was worth anymore lives of our dwarves. Nothing could replace our loss. On my order the remaining dwarf armies dispersed to their kingdoms, and I returned to Erebor to start my rule.

"One day, no more than a month after my return, a traveling wizard appeared at the gates of Erebor, and with him was my father, the rightful King of Under the Mountain. We had assumed him dead, when in actuality we abandoned him to horrific torture under the hands of the orcs. I was told that it was one of the wizard's traveling companions that stumbled upon King Thrain and initiated his rescue. It was through their brave acts that my father was returned to me.

"But my father didn't return, at least not completely. His mind had broken from weeks of torture, making it impossible for me to step down from the throne and return it to the true king. He began to swiftly call our people to battle once again, a war of vengeance that this time would not only reclaim Moria but avenge our fallen. For the first time in our history, a rift was formed: those declaring loyalty to King Thrain, wishing to follow him to war, and those who swore fealty to me."

"Two Kings Under the Mountain." Bilbo tsked as he pulled out a small sliver of glass from the web between Thorin's thumb and index finger.

"It was madness," Thorin could not mask the shakiness in his voice. "No matter how I pleaded with him, my father would not be convinced otherwise. We would go to war, whether it be within the walls of Erebor pitting brother against brother, or against a common enemy. I chose to step back. Rather than fight him and risk civil war; I joined my father in solidarity. Perhaps there would be some way I could change things by staying close to him. Perhaps he would confide in me so that at least I knew how he planned to wage this new war.

"It worked…"

Thorin shifted his hands, taking Bilbo's into his, squeezing them. "One night my father called for me and showed me one of his strategic plans: a two front war on both sides of Moria, east and west. In it he had the armies from the Blue Mountains stationed in the Shire. The land was plentiful with farms and hills, the perfect place for our armies to replenish, re-arm, and wait for instructions."

Bilbo's eyes were widening at his words, hands frozen in the dwarf kings. "They wouldn't allow it!" he argued. "There would be no way for our Thain would allow it!"

"Of course not," Thorin agreed. "That was why my father had plans to conquer the Shire and rest its leadership from your Thain. It would be child's play to seize the land, but he wished for more. To halt any attempt to revolt, we would take hostage a hobbit of prominent standing and have them bound to him through marriage contract. My father even knew of which family line this hobbit would come from. It had been planned out, detail by detail, as if it had always been a part of his agenda. Moria _and_ the Shire would be his."

Bilbo shook his head in bewilderment. "So there truly was a threat to the Shire. Balin wasn't full of hot air." He shifted back, resuming his tending to the king's wounds.

"It was the Gray Wizard, the one who brought back my father, who advised me not to thwart my father's plan with regards to the Shire, but to shift its direction. I, not my father, would take a hobbit as consort; bind him and his lands under _my_ rule. This hobbit had to have enough wealth and land to station some dwarves to appease King Thrain plot, yet a hobbit that was clever enough not to be completely cowed by being ripped from his home. He gave you by name 'Bilbo Baggins', made me promise not to take anyone else.

"I nearly could not convince my father otherwise. It was only when the wizard mentioned your lineage; that your mother was a direct relation to the ruling Took family, did my father finally acquiesce. Once the contact had been written, I sent out my most trusted comrades to retrieve you."

"And here we are," whispered Bilbo.

"Here we are," echoed Thorin.

He felt heavy and dry, burned out ash decayed in his mouth in the wake of outlining his failures and the failures of his father and father's father. He watched listlessly as the little hobbit finished cleaning his hands, dabbing his wounds with ointment and binding them with clean cloth. He continued to stare silently as his consort shuffled off the bed and put away the ointments, then taking the bowl of water to the bathing room.

 _My clever little hobbit_ , he thought to himself, taking a moment to admire the white expanse of Bilbo's neck as he turned his head. The golden hues of his hair took when close to the fire, the dark blue of his eyes, sapphires burning brightly with intelligence, patience and resolve.

"He was right, you know," Thorin said as the hobbit joined him again on the bed, struggling to get beneath the sheets.

"Who was right?" asked Bilbo, firm little hands maneuvering the king onto his back and under their sheets.

The king reached out a bandaged hand to encase the side of Bilbo's face, falling deeper and deeper. "The wizard," Thorin swallowed, gently guiding the hobbits face down so that his brow rested upon his own. "He told me that you were different from other hobbits. That what made you peculiar among your kin would be the very thing that made you perfect for becoming my consort."

"Bugger the wizard," Bilbo grumbled with a slight frown.

Thorin snorted at the hobbit's ill temper with regards to the wizard. He released his consort, dropping his hand over his eyes. "I am _tired_ ," he admitted.

"Then rest," hummed Bilbo.

Thorin nodded, and allowed himself to relax into an exhausted sleep, fully aware of the small beckon of warmth at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: So, lots of answers were given in this chapter. It’s taken a long time to get here, but hopefully your patience has won out. Thank you so much for your readership (if you have lasted this long) and I will see you all next time in Chapter 13!


	13. ANNOUNCEMENT

**FAR FROM HOME IS ON HIATUS**

Explanation:

Since June 2013 I started to feel unwell. After months of visiting doctors, and a downward spiral of health and mental wellness, a CT scan in March 2014 showed masses growing in my bones. A bone biopsy gave us a diagnosis: Langerhans Cell Histiocytosis.

Langerhans Cell Histiocytosis (LCH) is a rare form of tumor/lesion that is usually found in children. Only the last few years doctors realized that adults can become afflicted with it as well. The tumors/lesions can manifest in the organs, bones, brain, and/or skin. They cannot be surgically removed. Radiation and/or chemotherapy can treat it, with heavy doses of antibiotics fed through IV.

It is not cancer, but can become "aggressive" and treated like a cancer.

Since March I have been unable to drive, I cannot cook, I've lost close to 10 pounds, and since April have been on medical leave from work. My parents are taking care of me now, helping me pay my bills, taking me to my doctor appointments, and helping me with just doing the basic stuff I have taken for granted - putting on my socks, washing my hair, reaching for a cup.

Most days I cannot type, even on my tablet. It has taken me over a week to type this.

I do not know when I will have the strength to work on Far From Home. I cannot promise anything at this point. It's going to be a while before I start to feel better. Many of you readers have already reached out to be through email or tumblr. I love hearing from you all, however there are times it is difficult to respond.

Please do not think that I am ignoring you or giving up on FFH. I have evil, diabolical plans for this story.

Love you all,

Tristripe

**Author's Note:**

> My goal is for this story to be a bit darker than other arranged marriage fics. This is not meant to bastardize Thorin and the dwarves. Rather, it is a bit of a realistic look at why such a forced arranged marriage would occur and how it would affect the characters involved in the whole mess. I love knowing what my readers think, so feel free to chat away! You can even find me on my tumblr, cause sometimes I ramble about my writing there (and other things). Hope you enjoy the story!


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